Harper weighs the key in her hand. “We swore an oath to protect the innocent, to see that justice is served to the full letter of the law . . . and here we are, hiding the truth, holding back the course of justice.”
Morelli rubs his tired eyes. “I know these murders will never end. And I can’t go on any longer, living with the guilt. The injustice of it all goes against everything I joined law enforcement for. It’s time something was done to bring these to light. I’m just sorry it took me this long to find the courage.”
“You realize I need to bring Stu Raley in on this?”
“Of course; I trust Raley,” Morelli says. “I thought it was all over with. Yet . . . here we are.”
“Here we are,” Harper repeats, shaking her head with distaste.
“Don’t judge me for protecting my family, Detective. If the truth had gotten out, these people might have come after my wife, after my kids. But I can’t sit on my hands any longer. It’s time I started making things right.” Morelli fixes her with a hard glare. “The murders were covered up. Details changed about the circumstances of their deaths. Little things, enough to make them appear to be unconnected. No mention of the crowns he leaves on their heads, for one thing. But now you know the truth. And this is your chance at cracking this case.”
Harper gets to her feet, eager to get down in the basement and start digging. “Keep this between you and Raley, okay? At least until the time is right. We don’t need media attention drawing our focus away from what’s important—finding the sick son of a bitch who’s killing these girls. Everything else can be handled after.”
“Yes sir,” Harper says.
“Right. Don’t let me hold you back any further. Let’s get out there and catch this bastard,” Morelli says, waving her off. He turns to the pile of papers on his desk that awaits his attention. “Good hunting.”
As she walks away from his office, Harper can’t help but feel a chill run down her spine. There are people with so much influence, with such a stranglehold over the town, that they have kept these murders covered up for so long. To what lengths will they go for what they think is the good of the town?
The basement—or dungeon, as the cops often call it—consists of rows of rolling shelves. By cranking a wheel on the edge of the unit, you move the shelf across, allowing access to its contents. The shelves have laminated printouts on the ends, with the contents of each mobile stack listed alphabetically and by category. On the other side of the basement are rows of old filing cabinets, and down one end is a caged-off area for sensitive evidence. A senior officer holds the key to the evidence lockup, and everyone has to be signed in and out.
“I don’t get the subterfuge,” Stu says, peering left and right. They’re the only ones down there. “I mean, what’s it all about, huh?”
“You’ll see.”
She instructs him to try opening the cabinets. One by one they attempt to yank them open, succeeding every time. Stu arrives at the last cabinet and tries it. It won’t budge. “Hey . . . sucker won’t open.”
“This must be the one.”
Harper slides the key into the lock and opens it up. The top and middle drawers are completely empty. Only the bottom holds anything—a dozen or so files, held together like a Christmas present with white twine.
“What’s that?” Raley asks.
Harper scoops the files out of the cabinet and kicks the drawer closed with her foot. “This could be our big break. Let’s go to my apartment, away from prying eyes. You can drive.”
“This is gonna give me a fucking ulcer,” Stu complains when they get through the door to her apartment. “This whole case is a nightmare.”
Harper sets the files down on her kitchen counter and proceeds to cut the twine with a pair of scissors. She recounts how Captain Morelli handed her the key. “It was like ‘and this is your responsibility now,’ you know?”
“Damn,” Raley says, pulling out a chair from her dining room table and sitting down. “So they’re the files Claymore was talking about.”
“Yeah. Now remember this has to stay between us, at least until we catch this guy.”
“I get that; I’m not dense. Just the two of us.” Stu takes a deep breath. “Okay, so where do we begin?”
Harper hands him the file off the top. “We read.”
It’s late by the time they’ve read through all the files to establish a broad sweep of events. The files are arranged chronologically.
Ruby Lane, 1985. Followed by Odetta Draw in early 1987. They go on like that, one every couple of years, with a quiet period of five years when there were no mysterious deaths at all . . . until Magnolia Remy and Alma Buford, that is.
Harper rubs her eyes. “Assuming they were all committed by the same guy, that’s a total of ten victims.”
Black girls. Raped. Strangled. Body fluids left at the scene. Most of them exhibiting other signs of violence, and puncture marks from hypodermic needles—no toxicology reports because, of course, that would arouse suspicion and make the cover-up impossible.
“There’s definite evidence of serial activity. The killer does the same thing, over and over. And after what looks like a brief hiatus, he is increasing his activities. Like someone who smokes ten cigarettes a day moving to twenty, then forty . . . the killer’s turned it up a notch,” Stu says.
The recent bodies—Magnolia Remy, Alma Buford—will cause a stir in the news, of that Harper has no doubt. “Ten girls, and more to come.”
“We’ll get him.”
“Let’s hope so.” Harper pats the files. They’re so much more than sheets of paper. They are an inconvenient truth, each folder detailing the end of a life. “I really don’t want to have to add to this pile.”
“Me neither. So what’s the next play?” Stu asks.
“Cross-reference these with what we have at the station. See if there’s anything from these files that’s actually helpful. In the meantime, I’ll catch up with Albie, see how he’s doing with Alma Buford’s friends. They might remember something odd going on.”
“Right,” Stu says, getting up. “I might grab a few files now. Something to read tonight.”
She shakes her head. “Hey, Stu? Don’t do that. Let’s both get a good night’s rest and attack it fresh tomorrow, huh?”
“Sure,” he says. “You wanna go grab something quick to eat? I feel like I haven’t spent a lot of time with you.”
Harper looks at her watch. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll just have a shower and go to bed. I’m bushed.”
“Miss Sensible.”
“Ha! I wish.”
“You can come stay at my place tonight if you want.”
“Thanks, but not tonight. Not with Karen on the warpath,” Harper says, seeing the instant disapproval. “I’m in no mood for somebody else’s bullshit, you know?”
Not that I give two hoots what she thinks.
“Okay, okay,” Stu says and walks to the door. He turns back, hand on the knob. “You won’t change your mind?”
She smiles. “Night, Stu.”