Killing Season: A Thriller

“Ro, that was like forty years ago. How would that pop up in a superficial search of San Francisco?”

“Okay. I’ve got a confession to make. Don’t you dare throw it back in my face.” She cleared her throat. “All those crime shows on TV? I’m addicted to them. Not the fiction ones . . . the true crime.”

Ben was trying to hold back a smile. “There are a lot of them.”

“I like them all: Reasonable Doubt, The First 48, 48 Hours on ID, 20/20 on ID, Scorned, Snapped, Grave Secrets, Sins and Secrets, Nightmare Next Door, Swamp Murders, Nothing Personal, Dateline on ID, Forensic Files, Cold Case Files, Murder by the Book, Watching Evil, City Confidential, old reruns of Watching the Detectives and Manhunters . . . I have a mad crush on Lenny DePaul. Sometimes I fantasize about being Michy.”

Ben stifled laughter. “No comment.”

“I used to watch like all the time. Now with my busy schedule I treat myself to a few before I go to bed.”

“Sweet dreams,” Ben said.

“Seriously. I mean, the stuff really scares me, but I keep coming back to it. Like maybe if I saturate myself in such horror, it’ll no longer scare me. Or perhaps I’m a little off like you are.”

“Those shows are popular. Maybe there’s something a little off in all of us.”

Ro said, “The Zodiac Killer was always the bogeyman to me because of the taunting of the police, all those charts, and the case was never solved.”

“Yeah, we got ourselves an astrological monster. These aren’t random dates, that’s for sure.”

“It’s creepy.”

“Yeah, when I pointed this out to Shanks, he was thinking about something satanic.”

“That’s even creepier.” A chill went down Ro’s spine.

“I don’t think it was satanic,” Ben said. “Julia Rehnquist’s body wasn’t carved up or mutilated like you would expect in a satanic murder. At least I don’t think she was. I’ve never seen the police file. My sister was also . . . whole.”

“I hear you.” Ro started skimming Julia Rehnquist’s file. It was a year-old case. She had been sixteen years old, jogging on a hillside on a Saturday in Berkeley, California. She was found eight months later, sexually assaulted and manually strangled, buried in a four-foot grave in Mount Diablo State Park. The closest town was Diablo, California, which had a tiny population. Vicks had also written down Alamo, California, a town of fourteen thousand, and Danville, California, population fifty thousand.

“How far are Diablo, Danville, and Alamo, California, from here?”

“Around nine hundred miles.”

“I know that serial killers travel a lot. They drive around all the time looking for victims.”

“You really have seen a lot of true crime. And you’re right. Rehnquist is in a different geographical locale. With Katie Doogan, I thought I was dealing with someone unique to New Mexico, but now I don’t think so.” He looked up from the computer. “Berkeley is similar to Santa Fe—very liberal and really kooky. It attracts all kinds of people. That’s a point in common.”

“What does that mean, Vicks? We’ve got a ravaging reactionary who’s killing girls?”

“As ludicrous as it sounds, you never know.”

Ro said, “Okay, both Ellen and Julia were buried in the mountains. Which makes sense. If you’re going to take the time to bury a body, you don’t do it in a populated area. Was Julia buried near water?”

“I don’t know without walking the terrain. There are streams in the area.”

“Is there something significant about water?”

“Maybe. Or it could be that he used riverbanks because it’s easier to dig a deeper hole in muddy soil or he uses water as a geographical guide. Whatever the reason, the murderer didn’t want these girls to be found. The graves were deep in both cases.”

“Hard to dig a deep grave in the mountains in the heart of winter.”

“It’s a California winter.”

“Ah, that’s right.” Ro thought a moment. “You said the graves were deep because he wanted the bodies to permanently disappear. But the bodies were found.”

“Animals smell bodies. They dig. Sometimes they make a hole just deep enough for erosion to start working its magic.”

Ro said, “Have you told Shanks about the Rehnquist case?”

Ben gave a pained look. “No.”

“You have to do that. If you’re wrong, so what?”

“I don’t care if I’m wrong. I don’t want to drag Shanks into something that would make him look stupid.”

“Vicks, if you’re not going to do anything about all this data, why do it?”

“Because at least I’m doing something. I’ll talk to Shanks . . . eventually.” Ben started to gather up the files from his bed. “I’ve been at this for hours. I can’t think anymore. Let’s get out of here.”

“Where to?” She saw him look at her feet. “What?”

He said, “You’re wearing boots but not the right kind. What size are you? Your shoe size?”

“Seven and a half.”

“I’ll see what I can scrounge up.” He checked his watch. “But we have to leave now.”

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” He unlocked the door and opened it, leading Ro into the kitchen, where his mother was setting up a tray of snacks: guacamole, salsa, corn chips, flour tortilla chips, and a plate of fresh fruit. She smiled when she saw the two of them. “You’ve been in there for a while. I thought you might want a snack.”

“What’s your shoe size, Mom?”

“My shoe size?”

“I want to take Ro to see Aspen Vista before all the leaves fall off. Maybe we’ll even have enough time to hike a little of Big Tesuque. But she can’t walk in what she’s wearing.”

“Ben, it’s after two.”

“We’ve still got some sunlight left. I promise I’ll be back by dinner. What’s your shoe size?”

“I’m an eight,” his mom said.

“Close enough. Can I borrow your hiking shoes?” When his mother smiled again, Ben spoke out. “Ro is JD’s girlfriend but we talk sometimes. You know how it is. Some guys get all the luck.”

Silence.

“Can I go in your closet?” Ben asked her.

“Of course.” His mother’s voice had turned quiet. “Give her the brown high-tops.”

“Great. Could you wrap that up for us?” He pointed to the food. “We’ll take it in the car.”

“Of course.” She gave a brief smile to Ro. “You and Griffen are welcome to stay for dinner.”

“Thank you, but I have other plans.”

Ben had gone looking for the shoes. His mother was talking with her eyes down. “Well, I guess I’ll go wrap this up.”

“Can I help?”

“No, no.” A sad smile. “Just make yourself comfortable in the living room.”

Ro waited until Ben came back with two pairs of hiking shoes. “Either of these should work. Try them on.”

“You upset your mom.”

“By telling her you weren’t my girlfriend? I’m sure I did. No sense letting her wallow in delusion.”

Ro tried on a pair of shoes. “She invited me for dinner . . . your mom.”

“You can stay. I won’t kick you out.”

“I told her I have plans . . . which is true.” She laced up the high-tops. “These fit.”

“Then let’s go.” He took her hand and pulled her to her feet. “It’s time for you to see what New Mexico is really all about.”





Chapter 11


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