Blue Creek, June 6, 2:00 AM
Forget about the men
for the moment, Richard thought as he tried to squeeze sense from the files and notes littering the kitchen table.
Forget about the older women too. The young ones are his thing. Two distinct treatments: the Fayetteville
prostitute and our first Jane Doe both had severe face trauma---"depersonation" says Tanner. He had utter
contempt for them---just wanted to destroy and cast them aside, dump them literally.
He remembered how he
had found the second Jane Doe. Despite the deterioration, there was no doubt how she had been posed.
She did it
for you. She fit your fantasy just like the Riepe girl. Only this time you actually took her with you. Did
you go back to visit her?
He reached for the Marked Tree file, running over the scene in his mind one more time. He pulled out the history
and victimology profile of the young girl who had been the focus of Paget's mayhem that night. Then he read the autopsy.
Despite the dry words common to such documents, the horror communicated more clearly than the photos. Each wound was
minutely described, attesting to the horrific time span of her torture. Her wounds were seemed on the surface to be
much less severe than those of the beating victims, but the deliberate prolongation and gradual escalation of her torment
made it clear that she had suffered the most.
139.
Richard tried to push aside the nausea and gain some
objectivity.
Your passion. You did the same thing to our vic.
You have to do it, but why?
He took the picture of Katrina Riepe he had printed out from her high school yearbook site on line and moved it across
the table from the first Jane Doe's autopsy photos and lab reports. It didn't belong there any more than Katrina Riepe
belonged where she was now. Changing his mind, he picked it up for a closer look. Her adolescent features held
the promise of a mature beauty never to be realized.
With a sigh he put the photo down and went to refill his cup.
When he came back, her eyes seemed
to seek his. Her shy smile touched his heart. She had been a child.
How could you look at her and still .
. . He stopped in mid-thought. "Not despite her innocence, but because of it?" he muttered aloud.
"Who
are you talking to?"
Jill stood framed in the kitchen doorway, clutching her robe about her. He quickly gathered the materials closed
the folder.
"To the murderer I guess."
"Is that better than talking to me?"
"Am I still in trouble for forgetting your birthday?" he asked irritably.
"Maybe
I just never thought I would lose you to a criminal. It seems you prefer to spend all your time with him now."
"It's
not that, Jill," he said impatiently. "Can't you see? We've got to find this guy before he does it again."
"Of
course you do," she said wearily. "It's just that . . . you're so different now. Even with Mic---when
our own lives were in danger, we still had time for each other. We still talked, Richard."
"I
thought you didn't want to discuss the case."
"I don't. I want to discuss us."
"What about us? We're doing
just fine. We're going to have a baby, and everything is just . . . just great. You ought to be happy. I'm
not moping around any more."
"No. As long as you have your obsession you are just fine."
"It's
my job, Jill. And it's important."
140.
She sat next to him and touched his arm.
"Of
course. But what happens when it is over, Richard? What happens when you catch him and your life becomes . . .
less intense? Will your family be interesting enough for you?"
"You knew what I wanted
before you married me, Jill," he said irritably. "You can't expect me be something else now?"
"Before
we were married you wanted me. You wanted me more than anything else in the world. Or was I wrong about
that?"
How could he answer that? Richard felt she was being petulant. It was unrealistic for him to worry as much
about her as about catching a killer.
"I know you need reassurance, but tell me how not to bring my work home."
"If
you can't come home without it, then it will become your whole life," she said sadly. "There won't be room
in for me or our child. Richard, you need balance. We need balance. Your child must have a father."
He knew
that the resentment he felt was wrong, but he didn't say anything.
"I'm just not sure that the sort
of life you want is one that I can live with," she continued. "Or one that I want our child to live with."
He was
shaking his head in denial.
"You can't just disagree, Richard. Tell me how you can be a husband and a father and still spend your
days and nights like this."
"It won't be this way all the time. Surely you know that. Cases like this---"
"I
know they are rare out here, but when an interesting one happens, you will always be the way you are now. And when there
is no case to obsess on, you will be self-absorbed and depressed."
"I don't want to fight, Jill."
"Neither
do I."
"Then what do you want other than my . . ."
"I want my husband back."
"I'm
not going anywhere, Babe."
"I am. I'm going back to our bed. Are you coming?"
141.
He
suddenly realized that it was an ultimatum.
"I'll be in as soon as I put this
stuff away," he said, hastily gathering the folders strewn across the table and stuffing them into his brief case.
Jill
didn't make a sound as he undressed in the dark. He slipped into bed and pulled her close, foolishly believing he had
set things aright by his capitulation. She yielded momentarily, giving him a perfunctory hug before turning away.
In a few minutes her even breathing told him that she was asleep.
An hour later he still lay beside her fully
awake, angry with her for first forcing him to bed and then turning her back on him. It never occurred to Richard that
he had turned his back first. And then he did it again, turning his attention back to the case. By dawn, he had
convinced himself the Paget had indeed committed all the murders and was staying somewhere close by. He decided to call
Tanner again in the morning.
Blue Creek, June 7
"Behaviorally,
what you're saying makes a certain amount of sense," said Tanner. "If your first victim up there was
a prostitute, and if it is Paget we're talking about here, then it's possible that he killed her for the same reason
he killed the woman in Fayetteville."
"Because he thought of her as worthless."
"All women are worthless
to him. He has this simmering resentment toward them just waiting to explode. If he were unable to perform---which
is quite likely, he'd blame a hooker for it, and the worse thing she could do would be to sympathize. That would
infuriate a guy like him."
"So she would be the focus of a sort of generalized explosive rage, whereas the Riepe girl would be
the focus of a fantasy built up to satisfy that rage?"
"You got it. Now it's an interesting connection you're trying to make between your second Jane
Doe---which is actually your first vic, as if things weren't confusing enough---and the Riepe girl."
"You
think it's a stretch because the MO's are different."
"MO's are overrated," said Tanner. "The Riepe girl was a target of opportunity, something
too good for our man to pass up. She was perfect for the script. Sounds horrible, and I'm not trying to be flippant.
You've just got to think like these guys if you're going to track them down and make the right connections. Writing
a script is exactly what he was doing, and he saw her as perfect for the role of his fantasy victim."
142.
"Our second one fit that role too?"
"Let's consider
that for a moment. From the autopsy report you faxed, I'd say your perp conned her into letting him isolate her because
there's no evidence of blunt trauma, and no knife wounds---though given the degree of decomp, stabbing can't be ruled out,
and neither can soft trauma that didn't show up in broken facial bones. The only definite we have is that she was strangled
at some point."
"So he could have taken a lot of time with her, just like Marked Tree," said Richard.
"Likely,
but we don't know that. She was probably killed somewhere besides the dumpsite. That he both transported
the body and posed it makes it almost certain that he spent considerable time with her at the murder scene."
"Paget
wrapped up the Riepe's girl's body. That suggests he was tempted to take the body with him," Richard reminded him.
"Suggestive
but not probative. Keep an open mind, Carter. You can't look for Paget to the exclusion of other suspects."
"I'm
not."
"Get real. It's the way you're thinking. Frankly, I still don't think there's much of a
chance it's him."
"Are you sure you're keeping an open mind?"
"Would it set your
mind at ease to know that we're still sifting through his past looking for friends and acquaintances that either came from
that area or have moved there? I admit it's not real high on our urgency list, but we aren't ignoring the possibility.
So far on that score we haven't found anything. Would you like me to tick off the other reasons your killer probably
isn't him?"
"Because he isn't familiar with the area and might not be comfortable riding around with corpses to
dump when he doesn't know where good isolated dumpsites could be found?"
"Essentially."
"You
haven't been to Hawthorn County. Logging trails and Civilian Conservation Corps roads from the New Deal era run off
into unpopulated areas of the Mark Twain Forest from almost every state and county road. A complete stranger to the
area could easily pick up on the fact that if there were no mail boxes at the junction with the highway, then there would
be no houses on the road."
"Granted, but where could he be staying?"
"There are lots of abandoned
houses, vacation cabins, and old trailers in the county. He could be staying at any of a number of them."
"Could
a stranger suddenly show up in that hill country and move into an abandoned house or trailer without raising some eyebrows?"
"Probably
not," Richard admitted. "But he could at a vacation cabin. Local folks wouldn't think twice about that.
They'd just figure the owner sold it and the new owner was using it as a summer residence."
143.
"Good thinking, except Paget is no fool. He wouldn't want to be there if the real owners suddenly showed
up."
"Maybe they did. Maybe that's where he got his transportation.
Maybe that's who one or both of his victims were."
"Vacationers disappearing without friends or relatives inquiring about them," mused Tanner.
"What do you think the chances of that are?"
"High enough that I wouldn't discount it. Maybe the women were lovers and went away without telling
anyone because they didn't want it known back home."
"Watch it. You're really starting to stretch," said Tanner.
"I
was just pointing out that there are a lot of possibilities we probably haven't thought of."
Arguing served
no purpose other than to clarify his thinking, so Richard decided to ask about something else that had been bothering him.
"Let's
put aside the who for a moment, Agent Tanner. I've got a why for you. If our victims come from
elsewhere---which I think these probably do---then why would he bring them here to dispose of them?"
"Two
possibilities: either he's trying to mislead us into thinking he's really staying there when he's not, or he's dumping
them near his home."
"The first one I can understand if he has enough time, but the second idea---why would he go to the
trouble of seeking his victims elsewhere and then dispose of them in a way that would literally draw an arrow to where he
lives? I know that's arguing against my own theory."
"Because no matter how intelligent he is, he's controlled by his fantasy. He has
to take them with him because killing them was the most satisfying thing he's ever done and he wants to prolong the experience.
By the way, your killer revisits his dumpsites. You can bank on it."
"Then he's one sick
puppy."
"Of course, but thinking like that doesn't help. You want to catch him, learn to think like him---try
to understand the appeal of it all for him."
"You can do that?" Richard asked.
"Well somebody has to, don't
they? Oh, and, Carter, when you find the next dumpsite, don't remove the body. Stake it out."
"You
think there'll be another one?"
"That's the game."
144.
"I hope it doesn't come to that."
"Me
too," said Tanner. "By the way, have you all put in a request for assistance to the Support Unit yet?"
"We
did. The profile's kind of generic. I assume that's because we don't have much to go on yet---no real victimology.
Look, Mr. Tanner, I appreciate your time. I know I should be contacting the St. Louis field office on this, but---"
"You
can't let go of the idea that Paget's your man?"
"Right. My wife thinks I'm obsessed with this thing."
"You
are. Occupational hazard. Hard on the family. You can take my word on that. If you care anything about
your wife you'd better find a way to have off time. If you can't take your mind off the case, you'd better learn the
art of multi-tasking."
Canaan Camp, June 7
Shane
still couldn't believe that Raven had suggested the walk. Although they had barely exchange a half dozen words, he was
beginning to think that everything was going to be okay. They followed the road down from the barracks down to the grove
across from the Phillips' where they had first talked.
"I've been wanting to talk to you since the . . . since I freaked out on you," she began tentatively.
"I
was out of line," he blurted, desperate to undo the damage, though he still didn't understand what he had done wrong.
"The last thing I wanted to do was . . . I was just wanting to let you know that . . .
"Shane,
we have to talk," she said.
"Raven, I won't . . . uh . . . I won't do that again until you're ready---I mean if you're
ready. I'm sorry."
Even while he was still stumbling over his words, she began vehemently shaking her head. "You didn't
do anything wrong."
"Then . . . I don't understand."
"Let's just . . . I need to walk."
Without waiting, she stepped across the overgrown road margin into the mown pasture. He followed even more
confused than he had been. They came to the tree where they had seen the snake. A subtle puff of warm air blew
in the aroma of dry fescue as she looked out over the field.
"My mother was a . . . a
prostitute," she said over her shoulder. "When I was little she sold me . . . to her customers.
Whatever filthy thing you can imagine, I've done. I grew up thinking that it was what I was supposed to do.
I was a twelve before Family Services took me away from her."
He was as shocked as she knew he would
be, but he didn't judge her. Although he would never find the courage to tell her or anyone else, Shane had been victimized
too.
145.
"It doesn't matter to me---" he began.
"Just listen, Shane!
You talk about us, but can't you see? There's no future for us. After the other day surely you understand
that."
"You were just a little kid when it happened. All that stuff is past."
"Is
anything ever past?"
"It is for me. What happened to you back then doesn't make any difference to me---honest, it doesn't."
She
didn't think the full impact hadn't hit him yet.
"It's not what happened to me, Shane. It's . . . Look. I'm damaged.
There's something wrong with me . . . something's broken, and I can't fix it. I see it, but I can't do anything about
it. That's who I am."
"You're not what they tried to make you back then. You're not. What you are is what you
are now. You are this wonderful person who I . . . fell in love with. And you've been redeemed."
She
looked at him miserably.
"Shane, I'm so sorry. I should never have let this happen. I knew better."
"You
may not love me," he persisted. "But you like me. I know you do."
"Of
course I do. But not the way you want me to. I can't feel that way about any man---any person. The way I
behaved when you tried to kiss me---that's who
I am, Shane. I can't stand for anyone to touch me. It takes me back to a place I don't ever want to go again."
"It'll
change. You know I'm not like any of those . . . of the others. I could never hurt you. It wouldn't be like
that."
She shook her head. "You can't help me, and I can't do anything about it. That's just the way
it is."
"No. You can put it behind you---maybe not forget about it, but make it just a bad memory."
She
had to make him understand. "I've never liked anyone they way I like you, Shane, but I can't stand it when you
touch me. Can't you see how hopeless that is?"
"You have to give yourself time."
He didn't understand at all. Forget it? How could she forget what had become a reflex? Intellectually,
Raven knew all about her phobic reaction. She had studied and researched until she understood both the psychological
and physiological mechanisms of the behavior. Understanding made no difference.
146.
"Even if I could get over it, I don't think you could."
"Of
course I can---and eventually it'll change."
From some juvenile corner of his mind, the thought flashed that other guys would laugh at him if they ever found
out he had a girlfriend that literally wouldn't let him touch her. The term damaged goods came to his mind,
and he blushed in shame at having thought it.
"It won't change," she pressed on. "I won't change."
Afraid that
anything he might say would be wrong, he said nothing. Raven interpreted his silence to mean that he had finally accepted
what she was saying. Although it was the outcome she had determined to achieve, she felt miserable having achieved it.
It
didn't take him long to change his mind, did it? she thought sadly. Once he realized he wasn't going to be
able to sleep with me, he gave up. My looks. That's all he was interested in.
"Why
don't you just go?" she said.
"I can't."
She was surprised to see tears forming in his eyes.
"No
one has ever cared for me the way I thought you did, Raven. I can't give that up."
She needed
Shane as a friend, but ending the relationship as quickly as possible was the only sensible thing to do. But she didn't
want to be sensible, and that was unconscionably selfish.
"I can't give you what you
want from me," she told him. "Not ever."
"You mean you won't sleep with me? That's not what this is about."
Of
course it was part of what it was about for him---a big part.
"You've already given me what I want," he continued. "Just don't stop. Listen
if people become . . . physical---I mean how long does that last? Fifteen minutes? A half hour? They have
the rest of the day to be together without being physical. So you tell me what's the most important."
"Grow
up, Shane! Make this easier on both of us and just go away."
Raven turned her back, not wanting to
see him as he walked away and out of her life.
Long moments later she wiped her cheeks dry. Cicadas chorused in the nearby trees.
"Well,
now you're alone. Just like you wanted," she said softly.
147.
"You're sad,"
he said, marveling.
Startled that he was still there, she turned.
"The hopelessness makes you sad," he said. "Well then that means you want to
hope."
Raven pursed her lips stubbornly. "Just stop."
"We both believe
in miracles, Raven," he persisted. "We believe in things we can't see, in things we have no proof of and only
hope for. If we didn't, we would never have come to Canaan Camp. When I'm with you it's better than anything that's
ever happened in my entire life. I can't give up."
It was foolishness, but foolishness Raven wanted to believe.
"I know you don't love me
like I love you yet," he continued in an urgent, naïve, shy, little boy voice. "But let me be your friend.
Maybe all I'll ever be is just your friend, but I'll be the best friend you ever had. And I'll never hurt you."
"And
when it doesn't work out the way you hope?"
"I can handle it."
She looked at him grimly. Then she sat down cross-legged on the grass and pointed to the ground across from
her.
"Sit down and listen. Don't say anything until I'm through. Then we'll see how you feel."
Sparing
neither herself nor him, Raven revealed things that she hadn't allowed herself to think about since she'd been taken from
her mother. She used words common enough in the world at large, but never heard in the camp as she detail how she had
been used, and how she had learned to submit to the pedophiles that her mother sold her to.
"So
you were defenseless. You were a victim. There's no shame in that."
"I stayed until
I was nearly thirteen."
"You were a child. You never knew anything else."
"I should have.
Everyone in the world knows in his heart that what I did was wrong."
"But look at you.
To be what you are now after all that, I think maybe you're the purest woman I know."
She hung her
head, unable to meet his eyes. It made no difference where the filth had come from. It had corrupted her, and
she was deeply ashamed of what she had been and perhaps still was.
Shane pulled the necklace from his pocket.
"I'd
like you to have this," he said holding it out to her. "Wear it for me. Please. Not as a . . .
token of friendship. It's just . . . you deserve something beautiful."
148.
It
was a mistake, but she took the necklace. Still not daring to look at him, she fastened the clasp behind her neck.
Shane
wanted to believe that her acceptance of the jewelry was the first step of a complete recovery.
As sure as there's a God in heaven, this has to work out, he
said to himself. There has to be a way.
Paget
thrilled to read about himself despite the idiotic nickname, but the search for a "serial killer in the area."
Kids playing in the woods had found the whore. He wished he could kill her again for all the trouble she had caused.
He was glad that they found the worthless slut, but then someone in the sheriff's department found Pale Babe. That wasn't
so good, but it couldn't be helped.
"It has to be three before it's a serial killing," he murmured as he reread the article.
"And that damned nickname! They should pick something more respectable Ozark Abductor or Blue Creek
Strangler."
Although he didn't want to admit it, it wasn't the nickname that annoyed him so much as the knowledge that he had
made a mistake. He should never have brought them back.
They'll connect it to Fayetteville as soon as they ID Pale Babe. Paget tried to shrug it off, but he was
boiling inside, but he couldn't. Some dumb ass deputy has to find her! Why did I have to bring her back?
At
the time he couldn't resist it, and that's all there was to it. He had almost done the same thing with Sweet Thing down
in Marked Tree. Now he'd just have to manage the risks the trouble-making women had forced on him.
Pale Babe
practically threw herself at me. And if the whore had just done its job right, none of that would have happened.
Being
stuck in the camp was bad, but if they made the connections he'd have to leave everything he'd worked so hard to set up.
Why does everything have to get so damned complicated? he asked himself in frustration. Beuler's
idiotic "arms sortie!" The house was supposed to be empty, but Sweet Thing was there and it all went to hell.
Big surprise. Women always screw things up.
The injustice was too much. Beuler had slipped away clean while he was holed up with a bunch of religious
fanatics. Now cops were sniffing around the place.
"Maybe I can do something about that," he said aloud.
"Is
someone here, Caleb?" A bleary-eyed Joshua leaned heavily on the doorframe wheezing noisily.
"Nobody's
here," he replied, no longer concerned that he had to ask the old man for permission. "I have to take a trip,
Father Joshua. I'll be gone for a few days."
149.
"A trip?"
"I
have a . . . a mission."
"Mission?"
"Yeah. Brother Shane will take care of the house while I'm gone."
"Get
John. John is good at---"
"No!" he said sharply. "Don't you remember about John?"
He modified
his tone. "Remember what he tried to do to you?"
The old man blinked several times, and
then his eyes narrowed. "John wants to take the Church from me," he muttered.
"Right.
But now that we've figured it out, me and Shane won't let him. Brother Shane is devoted to you, Joshua. You can
trust him as much as me."
"Shane? Yes, he's a good boy."
Paget
needed the kid to come through, but he wasn't sure that the young man was up to it. On the way up to the house, he tried
to strengthen the bond between them.
"How's it going with your girl? Did she like the necklace?"
"She
said it was beautiful."
"Glad I could help you out, especially after I almost screwed everything up. Honest, Shane, I
never realized what a . . . a real lady she was. Sure hope you're not mad at me for that."
"No.
It's okay. She can be kind of confusing sometimes, but . . ."
Shane stopped suddenly. Caleb
had helped him out, but stuff between him and Raven was private. No one needed to know the nature of their relationship."
"But
what, partner?"
"Nothing. Things are great. Thanks for everything, not just the necklace."
"She's
wearing it, huh?"
"Yeah. She put it on as soon as I gave it to her."
150.
"That's great," he said, clapping Shane on the shoulder. "I'm happy for you."
When they got to the house he cautioned Shane to keep his voice low because Joshua was still asleep. Later,
he made sure that Shane had the schedule for giving Joshua his "medicine" down pat.
"How
long do you plan to be gone?" asked Shane in concern.
"Not long," Paget said vaguely. "Wish I didn't have to go, but it can't be helped.
The important thing is that the doctor wants him to rest. So he doesn't need to worry about the details of the camp
so much. Brother John can handle the day-to-day stuff, but he insists on coming up and bothering him. You've got
to keep him from doing that, understand?"
"I guess."
"I'm trusting you to take good care of him, and not just with his food and his medicine. You've
got to make sure no one bothers him."
"What if Brother John insists on seeing him?"
"You can't let him, Shane,"
he said as he opened the bedroom door to let Shane see the old man. "See how frail he looks?"
"He
sure does," said Shane.
"That's why he needs to forget about the day-to-day stuff."
Shane looked in
apprehension at the thin figure snoring lightly on the bed in the darkened room. "Are you sure he's going to be
okay?"
"The doc said that the infection is gone, and all he needs to do is recuperate."
"So
all I need to do until you get back is make sure he takes his meds and eats his meals?"
"And
keep people from bothering him," Paget emphasized again. "Our biggest problem is John. He means well,
but can't seem to do anything without bothering the old---Father Joshua."
"What am I supposed
to do if he comes up here?"
"Do what you can to keep him from bothering Father Joshua. You might have to be forceful."
Shane
examined the bottle of pills, frowning at the lack of prescription or dosage information. Paget noticed and improvised.
"The
doctor's one of us. He thought it best not to put Joshua's name on the bottle."
"Why?"
"The enemies are everywhere, Brother Shane. You wouldn't believe all the people who want to destroy
Father Joshua and the Church. It's the Devil behind it, of course," Paget added, thinking that it sounded right.
"Now
this is a pretty strong sedative," he said, holding up the larger of the two bottles. "That's one of the things
that doesn't need to get out. Besides me, you're the only one that knows it, so we keep it that way, understand?"
"Is
he addicted?" asked Shane in alarm.
"No way," Paget said reassuringly. "It isn't habit forming, but with all the pressure
he's been under for so many years, he's gotten used to needing a little help to fall asleep---to get out from under all the
. . . the burdens. Remember to give him one at six in the morning and then another at two in the afternoon."
