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, What happened?
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.
“What?” The woman looks at me as if I punched her in the solar plexus. “That’s crazy.”
Norm rises, like a stooped old man crippled with arthritis. “Carol.”
“No!” She puts both hands against her face so quickly, I hear the slap of her palms against her cheeks. She spins, doubles over, and an elongated “Nooooo!” rips from her mouth. “Nooooo!”
I want to put my hands over my ears to block her agonized cries. Because I cannot look at Carol, I train my eyes on Norm. “I’m sorry,” I say.
“How?” she keens. “How?”
“Murdered,” Norm chokes. “The killer got her. Just like the others.”
Carol’s knees hit the floor. She raises her face and hands skyward, screaming, then buries her face in her hands. “Noooo!”
Norm goes to her, tries to help her to her feet, but she fights him off. “Brenda!” she screams. “Oh, my God, Brenda!”
Lois appears in the doorway, her eyes going to me. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Call Reverend Peterson again,” I say. “Tell him it’s an emergency.”
Nodding, she backs away.
Norm lifts Carol and eases her into the chair, but she doubles over and keens uncontrollably.
Wiping his face, Norm stands opposite my desk, vacillating as if he’s just stepped off a roller coaster. But his eyes are sharp when they land on me. “Was she raped?” he manages.
“We don’t know yet.”
He scrapes a hand over his face, his fingers digging into his eyes. “Why in the name of God hasn’t this maniac been caught?”
“We’re doing everything we can,” I offer.
Carol Johnston raises her head and thrusts a finger at me. “This is your fault!”
The words cut with the proficiency of a blade. I try not to react. But my recoil is physical.
Norm’s face crumples. “Did she suffer?”
“We don’t know.” It’s a lie; Brenda Johnston suffered plenty before she died. But I spare them the truth, if only for a short while. “They’ll need to do an autopsy.”
“Aw . . . God.” Air rushes between Johnston’s teeth. A single sob escapes him before he regains control. “Three people dead. Incomprehensible.” His voice rises. “How could this happen?”
“We’re working around the clock. Investigating this case aggressively—”
“Aggressively? Is that what you call it, you heartless bitch? You couldn’t even be bothered to call in the sheriff’s office. I had to call BCI for you. You call that aggressive?”
This scene has played out in my head a hundred times in the last two days. A worst-case scenario I knew I would face sooner or later. Even so, I don’t know how to respond, and train my eyes on the pad in front of me. “I know this is a bad time, Norm, but I need to ask you some questions.”
“I have some questions for you, too,” he says ominously. “Like why didn’t you call BCI for assistance when you first realized you had a serial killer on your hands? Why haven’t you called the FBI? You’ve mishandled this case from the get-go, you incompetent bitch.”