By the time he pulled onto the street he was already anticipating his next kill.
CHAPTER 23
“Aw God! Aw Jesus no!
I hear the screams from two hundred yards away. It’s a terrible sound in the silence of the woods. I glance at Tomasetti. He looks back at me, his expression asking,
A new and terrible fear throws me into a run. A dozen scenarios rush through my mind. Did one of the victim’s family members arrive? Did the killer return? I pick up speed and crash over a low-growing bush. I hear Tomasetti behind me, cursing, warning me to be cautious.
I burst into the clearing. To my utter shock, I see Norm Johnston kneeling beside the body. T.J. stands over him, his hands on the councilman’s shoulders. I know immediately something’s wrong with Norm. He’s on his knees, rocking like an autistic child, his head bowed. I approach slowly. “What’s Norm doing here?”
“Mrs. Srinvassen called him.” T.J. looks at me, his face ashen. “She recognized the vic. It’s his daughter.”
The words nearly drop me to my knees. Brenda Johnston is twenty years old. Smart. Sweet. And beautiful. A young woman with a bright future. Norm and I aren’t exactly friends, but I’ve heard him speak of his daughter. It’s the only time I even came close to liking him because I knew he had at least one redeeming feature: He was a good father. He was crazy about his only child. The knowledge that she is dead makes me feel sick inside.
I turn my attention to Norm. He’s looking at me as if this is somehow my fault. His face holds unfathomable pain. Tears stream from his eyes. His cheeks are nearly as red as the bloodstained snow. “It’s my little girl,” he sobs.
“Norm.” I set my hand on his shoulder. It trembles violently beneath my palm. “I’m so sorry.”
He remains hunched over the body. Blood stains his coat and slacks, his hands. A smear of crimson streaks his left cheek. He doesn’t seem to notice. He’s so distraught, he doesn’t realize he’s contaminating the scene.
“Norm,” I say gently. “I need you to come with me.”
“I can’t leave her like this. Look at her. He . . . gutted her. My little girl. How could someone do that? She was so beautiful.”
Tomasetti comes up beside me. I glance sideways at him. His jaw is clamped tight, the muscles working. “Mr. Johnston,” he says. “Go with Chief Burkholder. We’ll take good care of your daughter for you.”
“Can’t leave her like this.” He rocks back and forth. “Look at what he did to her.”
“She’s gone, sir.”
“Please don’t make me leave her.”
“You need to let us do our jobs. We’ve got to protect the scene.”
Norm looks at him, his face screwed up. “Why her?”
“I don’t know.” Tomasetti nudges me aside, and I let him. “But you can bet we’re going to get him.”
Taking the man’s arm, Tomasetti helps him to his feet. “Pull yourself together, Mr. Johnston. Go with Chief Burkholder. She’s got some questions for you.”
Johnston is like a zombie. I make eye contact with Tomasetti, but I can’t read his expression. I don’t know what to do with Norm. He’s in no condition to be questioned, and I’m not very good at comforting. But he needs a friend and there’s no one else to do it so I take his arm and lead him toward the dam. “Let’s walk.”
“Chief Burkholder!”
An odd sense of relief skitters through me when I see Nathan Detrick and Deputies Hunnaker and Barton come over the crest of the dam. As recently as yesterday, I would have resented his presence. Today, everything else is secondary to stopping this killer.
Detrick reaches us, his eyes flicking from me to the body of the victim. “Holy Mother,” he says in a guttural voice.
“I’ve got officers setting up a perimeter.” I hear my own words as if someone else is speaking them. “The killer may still be in the area. Probably on a snowmobile.”
Detrick speaks into his radio. “I want every man on a perimeter around Miller’s Pond. Rockridge Road. Folkerth Road. County Road Fourteen. Subject may be on a snowmobile.” Clipping the radio to his belt, he addresses his deputies. “Get this area cordoned off. Get some tape up.” He looks at me and shakes his head. “I got here as quick as I could.”
“I appreciate it. We’re stretched pretty tight.”
His gaze drifts to Johnston, and he raises his brows.
I lower my voice. “His daughter.”
“Aw, hell.” Detrick sets his hand on the man’s shoulder and squeezes. “I’m sorry as hell, Norm.” His eyes land on me. “I can take over here, if you want to get him home.”
“Thank you.” I touch Norm’s arm. “We could use a ride to the station.”
“No problem.” Putting his fingers to his mouth, Detrick whistles for one of his deputies.
I call Norm’s wife on the way to the police station and ask her to meet us there. My call frightens her, but I will not relay news of her daughter’s murder over the phone. I can only hope she doesn’t hear about it elsewhere before she arrives.
On the drive, Norm calms down enough to talk to me. I learn that the last time he saw Brenda was around nine P.M. the night before. He called her earlier today and left a message, but she didn’t return his call. Brenda lived alone and worked as an office manager for a doctor in Millersburg. A call to the office tells me she didn’t show up for work this morning, which is unusual for the responsible young woman. That tells me the killer may have gotten his hands on her last night. This is the first step in establishing a timeline.
Lois looks up from the switchboard when we enter the police station. Her eyes widen at the sight of the Norm. Tossing me a concerned look, she mouths,
I shake my head and she doesn’t press. “Call Reverend Peterson and tell him I need him here. Mrs. Johnston is on her way. Send her right in. We’ll be in my office.”
She never takes her eyes off Norm. “Sure thing.”
Norm heads toward my office without speaking. He’s no longer crying, but his agony is palpable. I need a few minutes to gather my composure, but I don’t want to leave him alone. I follow him into my office to see him drop into the visitor’s chair adjacent to my desk.
Last night’s coffee sits like sludge in the pot. I pour a cup, but I wish for something stronger. Sliding behind my desk, I pull out a fresh pad, an incident report form and a witness statement form. “I need to ask you a few questions, Norm.”
“I can’t believe she’s gone.” His eyes fall on mine. “She was everything to me. The best thing I ever did.”
I have no words to console him. Feeling inept, I pick up my pen and look down at the form. Dread curdles in my gut when the bell on the front door jingles, telling me his wife, Carol, has arrived. I sit there, listening, my heart pounding.
I hear heels against tile and then Carol Johnston appears in the doorway. Her eyes flick from me to Norm, then back to me. She wears a green swing coat with a faux fur collar. She’s a petite woman well into her fifties, but she looks a decade younger.
“What happened?” she asks.
I think of their once-lovely daughter, the way she looked lying in the snow, her body cut to pieces, and I feel like crying.
I rise. “I’m afraid I have terrible news.”
“What news?” I see the initial rush of fear in her eyes. She looks at her husband. “What is she talking about?”
“Brenda is dead,” I say.
Norm rises, like a stooped old man crippled with arthritis. “Carol.”
