Finally, just last year, Makayla Brayden went missing after her best friend’s birthday party. She was fifteen years old. There was a picture of the pretty teenager with the honest eyes and wide smile.
Kate had taken a few criminal psychology courses back in college and knew that most pedophiles had a predilection for a certain age, sex, and physical appearance. Except for gender, these victims were all over the map looks-wise—short, tall, thin, fat, different ages, complexions, hair and eye color. If by some chance Palmer Dyson was right, that the same offender had killed all nine girls, then it clearly wasn’t the girls’ looks that attracted him.
Her phone rang and she scooped it up without even checking the caller ID. “James?” she answered breathlessly.
“Palmer Dyson. Sorry to bother you. Is now a bad time?”
“No,” she said, disappointed. “I got your package.”
“So? What do you think?”
“So far, I don’t see it,” Kate said. “Four of the girls went missing, and three were suicides or accidents. Only Savannah’s and Hannah Lloyd’s deaths seem like they could be related.”
“Okay, you asked for evidence. Let’s look at the three girls whose bodies were found but whose deaths weren’t thought to be the result of murder. Susie Gafford fell down a well, and it was ruled an accident. At the time, there was a dispute about the manner of death, but I believe she was killed before being thrown down the well. More significantly, some of her hair was missing. The medical examiner attributed the hair loss to it getting caught on the stone wall and pulled off on the way down. But I believe whoever killed her took a chunk of hair as a souvenir.”
Kate rummaged through the pile of folders until she found Susie Gafford’s. She studied the police photographs of the little girl’s body, a lump forming in her throat. “I’m looking at the autopsy pictures now.”
“Check out the left side, underneath her ear.”
Kate nodded. “Hard to tell,” she said.
“Let’s go to the next one. Lizbeth Howell. She jumped off a cliff, and it was ruled a suicide,” Palmer said. “Once again, there’s evidence she was killed before her body hit the ground. Possible strangulation. Her hyoid bone was broken. While I was investigating the case, her mother mentioned that Lizbeth’s hair was shorter than it had been before her death, and she just couldn’t figure it out.”
“Shorter?”
“Two inches off the bottom. But since there were no recent photos of the girl, it was put down to the mother’s grief.”
“And the last one?” Kate asked.
“Tabitha Davidowitz. Jumped or fell off a roof, ruled a suicide. Once again, there was evidence of suffocation prior to the fall. Very difficult to prove, though. And it looks like she gave herself a haircut at some point before she went up to the roof. Just chopped chunks of it off, although we couldn’t find any scissors or hair at the scene. She was a troubled kid, so again… the medical examiner had his opinion, and I had mine. There’s a history of incompetence in the medical examiner’s office. I’m talking decades of mistakes. But the medical examiner had the support of the chief, so guess whose opinion held sway?”
“What’s his name?” Kate asked.
“Quade Pickler.”
So the man who’d worked on Savannah’s case still held the position. “And he disagreed with your findings?”
“He likes things neat and tidy. My theory’s kind of messy. Quade’s a political animal. Me, not so much.”
“Does anybody else in the police department agree with you?”
“I have my allies. But like I said, I’m retired now. And with the opioid crisis and rising crime rate, the guys really have their hands full. No one has the time or the inclination to review the old cases.”
“It’s interesting,” Kate hedged, “but it still seems like a stretch.”
“I see a pattern. He cuts off their air, and he cuts off their hair.”
A chill ran through her. “I really don’t know,” Kate said. “I need more time to digest this.”
“Well, here’s something else for you to chew on. Did you receive Blackwood’s email yet? He sent it through his lawyer. I got one too.”
She could feel the hairs rising on the back of her neck as she reached for her laptop and checked her emails. “I’m not going, Palmer. I already threw away my invitation from the DOC.”
“This isn’t about the execution, it’s for the visitation beforehand. Sort of a farewell party.”
“Why does he want me there?”
“He’d like to talk to you. A dying man’s request.”
Kate gazed at the night sky through the living-room windows. Beyond the city lights loomed a rich, cold darkness. “Will you be there?”
“Yes.”
“How well do you know him?”
“Well, I’ve known Henry for years, since your sister’s death of course. He wants to talk to you, Kate. I think he wants to make his peace with it.”
She was repulsed by the thought.
“Blackwood’s friends and relatives will be there, along with some other folks who’ve been involved in the case.”
“What about Nelly?”
“No,” Palmer said. “She doesn’t want to have anything to do with him.”
“Wise woman.”
“Well, it’s up to you,” he said. “No pressure.”
30
KATE CALLED JAMES TO discuss the pros and cons. In the end, she decided that it would be healing for her to confront Blackwood, after all these years. At first James tried to argue her out of it, but ultimately he agreed.
“How’s your mom?” Kate said.
“There were complications. She has to go in for a second surgery.”
“Oh God, that’s upsetting.”
“She’s in good hands. She has the best orthopedist in New England. But I’m going to stay with her, okay? And I want you to do what you need to do, Kate. But remember, it’s okay to change your mind.”
*
The following evening, Kate arrived at the maximum-security prison around six o’clock. Located seventy-five miles north of Blunt River, the enormous complex of cement buildings was surrounded by a fortress of guard towers and razor wire. She found a spot in the vast parking lot and muttered, “I must be crazy.”
Inside, it felt just as oppressive. She went through security, and was met on the other side by an armed guard who escorted her to the wing of the prison where the worst of the worst were housed. Gang members, murderers, violent offenders. The deeper they went into the bowels of the prison, the more she regretted her decision. Her knees had turned to jelly by the time they reached the death row unit, a grim concave of dank cells flanked by armed guards in bulletproof booths. Anxiety and tension were thick in the air. The guard radioed the control room and asked them to open the electronically bolted door. Ten steps in, the steel door slammed shut behind them with a resounding clang.
The thirty by forty-foot visitors’ room was like a giant holding pen. Everything was painted white, even the steel-barred door that locked you inside with the prisoner—who would be housed in a separate unit, a Plexiglas cage built into the cement-block wall that looked like an animal display at the zoo. Behind the thick bulletproof glass was a six-by-six-foot enclosure with a single chair and a phone. On the visitors’ side of the glass were several cheap plastic chairs and a wall phone for the guests to use.
The visitors’ room was crowded with several dozen people. A line had formed at a banquet table in the corner. Kate was astonished that anyone could think of eating at a time like this.
“Kate?” Palmer emerged from the crowd. “Glad you could make it.”
She was relieved to see him.
“How’re you doing?” he asked.
“I’m nervous as hell. I almost chickened out.”
“There’s nothing to worry about. He’ll be out shortly.”
“What’s up with the food?” she asked.
“Well, like I said, this is his farewell party. Most of these people are here to say goodbye. Can I get you something?”
“Any alcohol?”
He grinned. “Sorry.”