CHAPTER THREE
1235 Words
CHAPTER THREE
Ilse stood at the edge of the overpass, peering towards the traffic below. A red sedan zipped by, a blur of color. A truck followed close behind, tailgating, and occasionally leaning on its horn. More traffic swept through in the never ending procession of automobiles.
“We were called right after it happened,” a voice was saying behind her. “A real mess. I’ll be honest, a few of us didn’t take it well. We had to shut down the highway. It was a damn nightmare.”
She turned back, watching as an older police officer dragged his fingers over his face, and shook his head in exhaustion. Sawyer stood by him, frowning and studying the lines in the older officer’s face.
“According to my report, you were the first responder.”
The cop nodded at Tom. “I took the witness statements. A couple of motorists pulled over but most commuters just went on their way.”
Tom glanced down at his phone, likely reviewing some of the crime scene photos. En route, Ilse had also gone over the pictures. They hadn’t been pretty. The coroner was still working on a toxicology report for this first victim. The second crime scene, in the shopping mall, at the top of the parking lot, was on the other side of Leavenworth.
But Ilse had insisted they come to the first crime scene to start, and Sawyer hadn’t resisted the suggestion. Ilse, of course, hadn’t been completely honest about why she had wanted to start here.
She was familiar with the town of Leavenworth. Familiar with most of the small cities and towns throughout the Pacific Northwest.
Seattle, according to some, was the serial killer capital of the world.
And so, in her line of work, Ilse had familiarized herself with any of the communities touched by the strange epidemic of violence. And Leavenworth, known for its affluence, was known for something else.
Bavarian architecture. It was intentionally styled after a small, quaint, German town. Just like the one she’d grown up near.
Walking through Leavenworth, when she had first visited years ago, had brought back memories she preferred kept dormant.
She mumbled her memory trick, beneath her breath, reciting details of a serial killer who had been active in the region. He’d killed sixteen victims.
She spoke quietly enough so the two men couldn’t hear.
“Best we can tell,” the officer was saying, pointing to the side, “she was shoved from there. She hit there,” he said, subsequently moving the indicating digit.
Sawyer said, “And what did the motorists say?”
The cop glanced at Sawyer’s phone. He shifted uncomfortably, looping his thumbs through his belt. A flashlight brushed against his knuckles. “Shouldn’t that be in your report?”
“I want to hear it from you.”
The cop sighed. “They didn’t see much. They were moving fast. As I’m sure you can see. But a couple of them seemed to think they saw someone wheeling the woman along. They didn’t think anything of it. At least not at first.”
“And did they say what the man looked like?”
The officer shook his head. “They all agreed on that point. He was wearing a hood. To them, it just looked like a nurse wheeling an old woman.”
“She was in her thirties, yes?” Ilse interjected, glancing over.
The officer nodded gravely. “Looks like our sicko dressed her up in a sweater and shawl. Dyed her hair. And then he took her for a stroll.”
“And was she protesting, trying to run?”
The cop said, “The witnesses didn’t see any of that.”
“Rawley said they were probably drugged,” Sawyer replied. “Maybe they were just being threatened.”
Ilse and the officer both shrugged.
Ilse glanced back to the report on the victim. She said, “What do we know about Ms. Perkins?”
“I spoke to her sister earlier today, actually. Tragic conversation.” The cop swallowed, running a hand through his silver hair and glancing towards where he had parked under the overpass, next to the stairs.
“What did she say? Any enemies?”
A shake of his head. “I’ll send you a voice recording of the interview. You can go through it yourself. I’ll include her number, in case you want to make a call. But I don’t think she knows much. She said no one would want to hurt her sister. She said Tiffany was lively, rambunctious, friendly, gregarious with everyone she met. Kind. Generous. Not the sort of person you’d expect to make enemies. This creep went after her for some other reason.”
“She worked at a hair salon,” Sawyer said, raising an eyebrow and glancing towards Ilse.
Ilse nodded, she’d also seen that in the report. “Pricey place,” Ilse said quietly. “She would’ve had high end clients. You don’t think this was a money thing, do you?”
The cop interjected here. “We found jewelry on the body. Money in her wallet. This wasn’t a robbery.”
He trailed off, and the three of them, standing on the concrete structure, listened to the faint swish of motorists below.
Ilse wasn’t sure what to do. Part of her wanted to speak to the victim’s sister herself—not in order to solve the case, but because she hated the idea of anyone going through something like this alone. Especially without someone to speak to. Her eyes moved to Sawyer, but quickly retreated again. Her fingers grazed the concrete structure at her side. A couple of loose stones flicked free, falling onto the shoulder of the road below.
Ilse frowned. What sort of killer wheeled women off structures to kill them? He had drugged them or at least threatened them. He was getting off on their fear.
This was clear. He liked their fear.
“We should go speak with the coroner,” Ilse said quietly. “I want to know what he’s giving them.”
“If anything,” Sawyer replied. “It’s not confirmed they were drugged yet.”
Ilse thought Sawyer was just contradicting the theory because Rawley had presented it. By the sound of things, some form of drugging was most likely. Women didn’t just let men dye their hair, dress them in old woman’s clothing and wheel them around public spaces without trying to scream for help.
No, the killer wouldn’t have brought them out in public if he hadn’t known he was in complete control. Now, it was up to them to decide exactly what type of control they were dealing with.
The coroner would have to help. The best way Ilse could think of narrowing down a killer, was to find if they had access to a heavily controlled substance. That would do half their leg work for them.
She was already moving, wanting to leave the overpass behind her. The image in her mind of what had transpired there two days before was enough to turn her stomach.
Her feet slapped against the concrete as she picked up the pace, marching back towards where they had parked. If the coroner didn’t have answers, then Ilse feared the killer would take another before they could do anything about it.
- Writer
