Eleven (9 page)

We spent the next hour and a half working the crime scene. Zachery was fascinated by the fact the area was so pristine given the bloodshed that would have transpired here. I kept trying to put that aspect out of my mind.

We went down the fourth tunnel, and through the uncovered doorway that led to the
kill room
under Bingham’s bedroom.

Being enclosed in this type of a prison ignited my compassion for the victims. The coroner had confirmed they were disemboweled while alive. Again, the threat Bingham had extended on my life gave the scene personal impact.

Bingham never expressed any remorse, but in contrast joked about the fact that the intestines were removed. An innocent person, a normal person, when confronted with a find like that under their home would be disgusted and scared. They’d realize that it would likely only be a matter of time before they made it to death row. But Bingham was calm, even proud of being accused. How his smile had grown at the mention of someone following in his steps. He thought of himself as untouchable.

Jack had sent an email to Nadia to research any unsolved cases that were similar to what we found here. He believed that Bingham killed before Salt Lick, Kentucky.

“What would motivate him to kill these people?” I asked the question we were all contemplating.

We were all standing in the
kill room
beside where the stretcher had been. It had been removed as evidence.

“Sometimes we never get the why, Kid.”

“Hope I’m not in-interrupting anything.” The accent pure Kentucky. Deputy White entered the room. “You feds git an early start to the day, don’t ya?”

None of us said anything.

“Anyway, the Sheriff’s upstairs. And there’s fresh coffee. We came by earlier, saw your fancy SUVs out front. Harris thought it’d be nice if we got y’all a coffee and came back.”

“Thank you,” Paige said, offering a sincere smile.

At this point, she looked like she had a rough night’s sleep. Her eyeliner was applied a bit thicker, her lids painted heavier.

“How’s things goin’ anyhow?”

“We think we have an ID on the first vic. Jones still has to confirm.” Jack offered the information.

White’s feet twisted in the dirt as he glanced back down the tunnel where he came from. He aligned his eyes with Jack’s. “And who’s that?”

“Travis Carter, Bingham’s brother-in-law.” Jack watched the man’s reaction closely.

White’s mouth formed an “O”.

“You knew him I take it.”

“I believe most of us deputies did.” He continued, realizing all of our eyes were on him. “He beat up on Lori. Now she never filed any charges, but it was d-def-definitely Travis that did the damage to her.”

Jack turned to me. “I guess Ellie’s precious son would after all.”

I took a deep breath. I had likely met the family of a victim. My eyes welded to where the stretcher had been, where the victims had been constrained and forced to stay for a period of days while Bingham mutilated and eventually disemboweled them.

The deputy twisted his feet again, jacked a thumb over his shoulder. “Well, that coffee ain’t gettin’ any fresher.”

Sheriff Harris stood in what had served as Bingham’s living room, but it was only a rusted color floral sofa, an old tube television, and fold-up TV tray for eating over.

“Good mornin’ y’all. Fresh coffee.” Harris held onto a coffee cup and lifted a finger to point toward the counter in Bingham’s kitchen. “At least it was twenty minutes ago.”

“They think they know who the first victim was,” Deputy White paused to take a draw on his coffee. It was quiet enough in the room to hear his thick mustache hairs scrape the plastic lid. He pulled back from the cup slowly. “Travis Carter.”

“Travis?” Sheriff Harris’s legs gave slight way, buckling him down a few inches in height.

Paige stepped toward him. “Sheriff?”

He held up a hand to her. “I knew the boy since he was knee high to a grasshopper. It was terrible what he did to his lady, but he was a misled young man.” Harris turned to me. “He only knew what he was taught.”

“His father abused his mother?”

Harris nodded. “All the time. And Ellie was a good lady, still is.”

Jack fished a cigarette out of the package, lit up, and looked at me. “Ellie lied to us.”

Deputy White’s eyes flashed with disdain, snapping to the amber butt.

Harris spoke up, “Well if she did, it was for a damn good reason.”

“You consider any reason good enough to justify lying to a federal agent?” Jack exhaled a puff of white away from the group of us.

“I’m not saying that. All I was sayin’ is she’d have a good reason.”

“To protect her involvement?”

I noticed Paige’s and Zachery’s heads turn. Even they seemed surprised by Jack’s lack of candor. It made me think of what he told me,
sometimes you have to play dirty to get the answers you need
.
We’re not Special Agents to make friends, we’re not here to bring healing to the world, we’re here to bring the guilty to justice and make them accountable.
Dramatically, he had taken a drag on his cigarette after the speech.

“That’s insanity. Why would she kill her own son?”

“It doesn’t mean she took part, maybe she knows something she’s not telling us.”

“Why am I feeling attacked?”

“Why should you feel that way, Sheriff?”

The Sheriff took a draw on his coffee, swirled it around his mouth before swallowing it. “Ellie and I, well, we were a couple. Now that’s a while back now, before her dead husband. Can’t believe she picked him over me. Anyway, I jus’ know her is all.”

“Hmm.”

And there was the sentiment again. I thought back to how he responded that way to me. Maybe there was a difference to the inflection. This time Jack’s fix on the man cemented the fact he held suspicions of something.
Hmm
stood for he wasn’t buying it.

“Anyway, the county would like to treat you to breakfast if you’re interested. Your whole team.” He swept a hand out to encompass all of us.

“We don’t have time.”

“You don’t have time to eat? Wow, you city folk really don’t take time for nothin’ do ya?” He laid a splayed hand over his round stomach. “How’s a man, or woman—” he smiled at Paige, “—s’posed to survive without fuel in his system?”

Jack looked at all of us and after thirty seconds nodded his approval for breakfast. I found myself thankful as all the talk of food had made my hunger return.

“We have to make it quick.”

“But of course.” It was Sheriff Harris’s turn to add a sardonic nature to his statement.

CHAPTER 12

Deputy White had a way of pulling food off the fork with his teeth, not his lips; every mouthful was accompanied by a small scraping sound. For the first five forkfuls or so, I watched wondering if he’d take the hint as to how annoying the habit was. He didn’t seem to notice.

“They’ve got the best flapjacks here.” The Sheriff cut off a triangle-shaped wedge, stuffed it into his mouth.

We were at Betty’s Place. She was moving around like a woman half her age, splitting her time between the kitchen and checking on her customers.

There were eight tables and the six of us took up two of them pushed together. The other six tables were full, save one where the couple was standing to leave. No one was waiting to fill it. Either tourist season was not as busy as Harris led us to believe or we were here too early.

“So you had a relationship with Ellie Carter—” Jack brought an abrupt ending to his sentence as he lifted a coffee mug to his lips.

“Well, she wasn’t Carter back then, Eldridge.” Harris’s eyes went back to his plate as he took another stab at his flapjack, which must have been his fifth one.

I had finished my breakfast some time ago. Food was simply something my body required. I didn’t find enjoyment in having a long drawn-out meal. That was one area where Deb and I differed, and where I made the sacrifice every anniversary, birthday, and Valentine’s Day. She liked passing time at fancy restaurants.

Deputy White elaborated for the Sheriff. “She hurt him real bad—”

“Wayne, that’s none of your business.”

Jack’s phone chirped with notification of a text message. He lifted it out of its holder, read it, and then looked at us. “Nadia’s finished running the photos through missing persons. The only one it recognized was Travis Carter. The record also confirmed what Ellie told us. He was reported as missing in ’86, pronounced in ’93.”

“I told you, she’s not a liar, agent.”

Jack didn’t look at the Sheriff but continued speaking to us. “We could be looking at victims who didn’t have family or connections. Otherwise, they all would have been reported.”

I thought of Kurt McCartney, a married man. I hesitated to correct him but wondered if this was another test. “I don’t agree.” The words came out bluntly. Everyone’s eyes went to me. Even the Sheriff, who had a forkful, paused en route to his mouth. “Kurt McCartney was a married man. So why wasn’t he reported missing?” As I continued talking, some more things became evident. “We don’t even know for certain that the people from the pictures were all victims of The Redeemer. We’re assuming that. Maybe some are intended targets?”

“Hmm.”

I passed a glance to Jack not knowing how to interpret that one.

“The Redeemer?” Harris rested the full fork on the edge of his plate, took a napkin, and wiped his hands.

“That’s what he calls himself on Twitter.”

“Twitter?” Deputy White leaned forward, waved a hand. “I know what it is, but who has time for such foolishness?”

Jack passed me a look.

I responded to White, “It’s popular and honestly doesn’t take a lot of time—”

“Well, that’s what we call a load of shit ready to spread on a field, agent. It’s time away from family. That’s most important.”

“It takes seconds to post something that’s on your mind, share a link. There’s a great part of the population that are online with it. I hardly think it’s harmful, or wasteful to spend time social networking.”

“What do you have to social network for?” White asked the question, and everyone faced me.

My eyes met with Paige’s. “That’s his personal life. Let’s focus on the case.”

“Sounds like it could be interesting, Slingshot.”

“Come on, Pending, don’t hold out on us.”

I looked around the table, appealed to the Sheriff to bail me out of this one. He sat back waiting for an answer. I guess I didn’t help him when it came to Jack’s grilling him about Ellie. “I’d prefer not to answer.”

“He dresses up My Little Ponies
and puts them up for sale.” Zachery laughed.

“He what?” The Deputy’s words evidenced an underlying amusement.

“Oh, some people pimp them all out, put jewels on them, paint them, you name it. People sell them, people collect them.” Zachery turned to me. I glared in return.

“It’s not that.”

Paige said, “What does it matter? We’ve got ten murders to solve, likely one to prevent. Maybe Brandon’s right, the photos weren’t of victims only, but also of intended targets.”

Zachery let out a rush of air as if disappointed his fun had ended.

“Very valid point and one I had considered myself. First I wanted to make sure they weren’t in missing persons,” Jack said. “I emailed Nadia to look into that last night.”

Paige pushed her plates out from her, leaned forward and crossed her arms on the table. “Makes complete sense. But now that we know they’re not in the database we need to find out who they all are.”

“If they’re not all victims, it really shows how arrogant Bingham is. He thinks he’s untouchable,” I said.

Deputy White’s eyes rolled back. “The man’s in prison.”

“He believes he’ll get out. He still feels he’s above the system.”

“Based on what?”

“Attitude. Projection.” I paused, certain the Deputy would add something, but he didn’t. “I know it hasn’t been confirmed that Travis Carter or Kurt McCartney were among the bodies found, but it makes me wonder if his targets are out there walking around. If we find the people in the pictures, we might prevent another murder.”

Paige nodded. Zachery’s expression was hard to read. Jack stared into his coffee.

“Really, where is McCartney’s wife in all of this? She didn’t report him and she’s not among the photos.”

Betty Miller came over to the table. “I hope all was good here.” She smiled sincerely, sharing it with all of us at the table.

“Delicious as usual, Betty.” The Sheriff patted his stomach.

The woman stood at the edge of the table. An awkward silence filled the space.

“Is there something you want to say?” The Sheriff put a hand on her shoulder.

Betty Miller looked from him to Jack. “I know it ain’t polite manners to eavesdrop, and I didn’t mean to.” She bunched up the front of the apron she wore around her waist, twisting it in her hands.

“It’s okay,” Paige assured her.

Betty stopped twisting the fabric and wiped her hands on the apron. When she removed them, the apron was still starch white. She looked to Jack. “You said missing persons. And I know that’s what you and him—” She nodded toward me. “—were in here asking about yesterday. Those photos you—”

The front door chimed, and she lifted on her toes to see who it was. She smiled as she waved the person over. Rounding the aisle was a woman with delicate facial features, her nose slightly upturned. It seemed like her pace stalled when she noticed the rest of us. Her eyes went to the floor.

Betty wrapped an arm around the woman and squeezed her. “Everyone this is Nancy Windermere. She’s a friend of mine.”

A hand went up and waved timidly, followed by a weak, thickly accented
hi
.

“I did some jaw-flappin’,” Betty said, holding less shame in that than overhearing a conversation. “I told her about the Special FBI Agents up here in Salt Lick, what y’all are doin’.” Betty squeezed the woman tight before releasing her. “It’s all right Nancy, go ahead.”

Nancy slipped a hand into the oversized purse she carried. It was knitted out of variegated wool of bright pinks, greens, and yellows. She pulled out a five-by-seven photo and extended it to me.

The photo was of a woman in her early twenties, maybe as young as twenty. She had long, platinum blonde hair, which she wore with the sides pulled back. She was smiling large enough to disclose two deep-set dimples.

“That’s Sally,” Nancy said, her voice barely loud enough to hear.

“This is your daughter?” I asked.

Nancy nodded. “I was hoping that you could help me find her.”

The Sheriff chose now to stand. The Deputy followed behind him. I sensed this was an arranged meeting. He might not have known when we’d show up, but Harris was aware that Nancy Windermere wanted to talk to us.

Harris put on a hat and tipped it to us. “We’ve got work to do out there, and it’s gonna be another scorcher. Good day, y’all.”

With them gone, Betty slipped into one chair and Nancy the other.

“Did you file a missing persons report Mrs. Windermere?” I asked.

“You can just call me Nancy, please. Nothin’ so formal.” Her eyes looked around the restaurant. “But no I didn’t.” The photo of Sally had made its way around the table, and Paige extended it back to Nancy. “No, no, please keep it. That is a copy for you.”

Instead of pushing the issue about why she hadn’t filed a report, I thought I’d go about it from another angle. It seemed the team left the talking to me. “When was the last time you saw your daughter?”

“Three years ago.” Nancy clasped her hands over the purse she had placed on her lap. “February eleventh.”

Different year of course, but February the eleventh was the same date that Travis Carter had last been seen. “Did she have any new friends?”

Nancy’s lashes soaked with tears. “I know you found something at the Bingham property. People talk. We might talk slower, but we ain’t stupid.” She put a hand over her nose and mouth, wiped downward. “What did that man do to my baby?”

I looked at Jack, who nodded for me to continue. “We haven’t been able to identify who was found as of yet.”

Betty leaned forward. “But you did find more than one, didn’t you? All those pictures you showed me. Are they victims?”

“We’re not confirming anything at this point.”

“Which is g-governmental talk for puttin’ a lid on it.” Betty huffed, crossed her arms, and turned to Nancy.

“I just want to know what happened to her. I know that she wouldn’t have run away. I know that will be your next question. She was engaged to be married.”

“We’re going to need his name.”

“Course.” Nancy went into her bag and pulled out a piece of notepad paper. She handed it to me. “I wrote up everything. His name was Colt Smith. His family grew up ’round here. Doc Jones helped birth him.”

How ironic that the man who was now undertaking dead bodies had at least once played a role in bringing life into the world.

“And he and his family are still around in the area?”

“Yes, course. They live on Caney Avenue. Colt does too. He married another woman a year ago though. He’s a young man, needed to get on with his life.” Her eyes went vacant. “I wish I could. Please find out what happened to my little girl.”

“I assure you, we will do the best we can.”

Nancy placed a hand on my forearm and squeezed. “God bless you.”

I smiled at her, but there was at least one more question that needed to be asked. “Mrs. Windermere—” Her eyes chastised me to be less formal. “—Nancy, I realize it might be hard on you but what specific memories to do you have of that day?”

“Do you have children, agent? You look young enough to still be considered one. Not much older than my Sally.”