The_Amazing_Mr._Howard (11 page)

“He assisted Baltimore homicide on a number of cases we became involved in. I was interested in learning his
modus operandi
.”

“That makes him sound like a suspect.”

“Come now, Willard, I’m sure you’ve been a cop long enough to know everyone is a suspect. Hell, I started every homicide investigation with my wife at the top of my suspect list, and she had one hell of a time coming up with an alibi in a few of the cases.”

Willard tapped a finger against his chin. He’d never considered Mr. Howard a suspect and still didn’t, but the idea proved interesting. “What did you find out?”

“Mr. Howard is one cool customer. He sat in my office for hours without eating or drinking, calmly answering every question. Didn’t even flinch when I read him Miranda.”

“Did you learn anything to figure him for the murders?”

“No, but you must understand these cases had practically no physical evidence to go on and no witnesses. Most of the girls were prostitutes. No one misses a whore except her pimp. Unless they were talented, and then a few customers shed a tear or two.”

“You said practically no physical evidence.”

“All of the bodies were recovered in such a state of decomposition the M.E. couldn’t glean anything from the autopsy… however, one of them, woman named Cynthia Rhodes, was recovered after less than a month in the ground. Autopsy showed she died by strangulation.”

“How could they tell?”

“As I recall, the hyoid bone was fractured and the blood vessels in her eyes were ruptured. Hmm…”

“What is it?”

“It says here Mr. Howard didn’t help investigators locate Rhode’s body.”

“That’s odd,” Willard said.

“Not necessarily. No one understands how the mind of a psychic works.”

“So y’all didn’t come up with any ideas on how Mr. Howard obtains the information?”

“No, but he did know a lot of personal things about the victims, that I do remember. More than other psychics who’ve assisted in homicide cases.”

“I thought the FBI didn’t work with psychics.”

Janssen laughed. “You’re pretty damn sharp, Willard.”

“Did anyone make a connection between the murders Mr. Howard assisted you with?”

“There were similarities. The victims were all about the same age and we didn’t find their bodies for several months.”

“Until Mr. Howard told you where to look?”

“That’s right. Except, of course, for the one body.”

“How did you find her?”

“The killer buried her too close to the Monocacy River. Spring rains caused the river to rise and uncover her body.”

“I talked to a Detective Hollingsworth from Baltimore. He told me all of the bodies decomposed to skeletons by the time they were recovered.”

“He probably wasn’t aware of Rhodes. She disappeared from Anne Arundel county and not Baltimore. Remember, these cases were never officially linked.”

“If one killer committed all of the murders, what would your profile look like?”

“Well, some of it would be easy,” Janssen said. “The killer is obviously intelligent and organized to pull this off without leaving clues. Because he’s so organized, I would guess him to be an older man, thirties or forties. Young men tend to rush and be sloppy. Also, he’s someone who doesn’t attract attention.”

“Do you think he engages in sexual acts with the victim prior to killing her?”

“Normally, I would say yes, but the evidence we recovered on Rhode’s body didn’t support that. It did tell us the killer kept her alive for about a week before he killed her.”

Willard turned from Hartley as he blew smoke rings his direction. “How do you know that?”

“Based on the insect evidence, the M.E. determined she’d been dead approximately three to four weeks. She’d been missing five weeks at the time her body was discovered. One more thing. The M.E. found several small puncture marks on her left arm.”

“Puncture marks?”

“Yes, as if from a needle.”

“Was Rhodes a junkie?”

“No evidence of that.”

“That’s odd,” Willard said. “Why’d he kept Rhodes a week if he didn’t rape her?”

“With psychopaths, there’s no telling.”

“You say that as if he’s insane and that’s obviously not the case.”

“You’re right, Willard. He’s not insane. I suppose thinking that makes it easier to swallow.”

“Sounds as if you believed one man was responsible for all of the crimes.”

“Didn’t matter we couldn’t prove it.”

Hartley held out the joint and Willard waved him off. “Did the killer take trophies?”

“Let me check my notes.” There was a moment of silence before Janssen said, “A few of the girls were missing jewelry, but that in and of itself proves nothing.”

“How about their clothes? Did he bury them naked?”

“Always naked… probably kept their clothes as a souvenir.”

“Or buried them nude to help speed up decomposition.”

“That’s right,” Janssen said. “Clothing can prevent some kinds of insects from reaching the body.”

“This guy,” Hartley said, slipping on a pair of headphones, “would have a normal or high IQ. He most likely would be socially adequate. Might be married, or at least date some. If he has kids, he’s probably a good father. By all accounts, DeSalvo did all right by his kids.”

“Yes,” Janssen said, “but he probably suffered harsh physical abuse as a child. Something drove him to strangle all those women in Boston.”

“Did the Maryland killer leave bodies all over the state?” Hartley asked.

“He did,” Janssen said, “which means he’s geographically or occupationally mobile.”

Hartley pulled an iPod from his desk. “He probably drives a flashy car.”

“And keeps himself and his house clean.”

Willard smiled as he listened to the profilers exchange theories.

“I’ll bet he contacts the cops to play mind games,” Hartley said.

“Or fantasies about being a cop. Based on the lack of evidence, I’d say he kills in one place and disposes in another.”

“He probably uses seduction to help restrain his victims. This one sounds like a talker.”

Their conversation faded to silence as Hartley fiddled with his iPod. Soon the music of Pink Floyd leaked from the headphones.

Willard saw this as an opportunity to jump back in. “There’s something about Mr. Howard that’s been driving me nuts, I can’t—”

“Find out anything about him?” Janssen asked.

“When I talked to Hollingsworth, he said they couldn’t get any information on the guy.”

Janssen laughed softly. “Yeah, the same thing happened to me. All I can tell you is he’s originally from Vienna and he goes by Mr. Howard.”

“Doesn’t the bastard have a first name?”

“Of course he does,” Janssen answered. “It’s Satan. Look, you’re wasting your time investigating Mr. Howard. As much as I hate to say it, there are psychics who seem to be legitimate, and who’ve helped various departments solve murders. A woman named Deborah Heinecker helped the Maryland State Police solve the Louise Williams case in the early nineties. The case had gone cold, and the detectives wouldn’t follow up on the information Heinecker provided. They thought the victim had run away with some guy, but Heinecker insisted that Williams’ son-in-law killed her. Guess who they ended up arresting for her murder.”

“Yes, but Mr. Howard has never provided information that led to an arrest.”

“He worked on difficult cases.”

Willard gripped the arms on the chair. “Now you’re making excuses for him.”

“I already told you, I never made Mr. Howard for the killings. I investigated him to find out if he was a fraud, but I couldn’t prove it. My advice is to stick to the facts. If your missing person is dead, Mr. Howard may be the only way you find her. Anything else before I hit the fairway?”

“Appreciate your time,” Willard said.

“Glad to be of assistance. Talk to you later, Dave.”

Hartley didn’t answer. He was too busy leaning back in his chair singing, obscured by a cloud of smoke. “I… I have become comfortably numb.”

Willard shook his head and left the office.

The box dropped onto Killgood’s desk with a thud. Willard retreated to a nearby chair and sat. “There you go.”

Killgood stood and peered inside. “What’s this?”

“Your friend Mr. Howard asked for more of Stephanie Coldstone’s personals, remember? You can’t imagine how humiliating it was to go to the Coldstones and ask for this crap.”

“Comes with the job,” Killgood said, sinking into his chair. He stared out the window.

Willard squinted as he watched the detective. It was obvious his thoughts were somewhere else. “I went to see the FBI profiler.”

“How’d that go?” Killgood asked without looking.

“He wasn’t able to give me anything useful.”

“Not surprising considering the little evidence we have.”

Willard debated whether to mention he had discussed Mr. Howard with the FBI. Sunlight streamed through the window and glistened upon the glass cubicle walls. Beyond the glass, cops went about their business as if they were the sole survivors of their own personal apocalypses. He could strip naked and dance around with a Roman candle shoved up his ass and no one would probably notice.

He reached into his coat for a cigarette but stopped, his attention drawn to the Killgood family photos on the detective’s desk. Damn, Killgood’s daughter was a looker. He’d love to bend her over his desk. “How many homicides has Mr. Howard helped you investigate?”

Killgood’s attention came to him. He sighed heavily and shook his head. “If this is about his credibility, I’ll—”

“No, I’m interested in the cases themselves. What transpired, what evidence you obtained, did you have any good suspects, that sort of thing.”

Killgood leaned forward and picked up the photograph of his daughter. He stared at it several seconds before sitting the picture down. “You believe all the cases are connected.”

Willard sniffed the air and wrinkled his nose at the strong smell of bleach.

Killgood smiled. “The janitors are cleaning the bathrooms downstairs. The stench rises through the vents.”

Willard hurriedly lit a cigarette to mask the odor. “I take it your investigators never came to that conclusion?”

“We considered the possibility, but the evidence didn’t support a continuing event.”

“Were the victims all female?”

Killgood frowned. “Don’t waste my time asking questions you already have the answers to.”

The retort was a kick in the ass. Willard squirmed in his chair. “Let me guess—young, late teens, early twenties, most of them prostitutes, or pole riders. All vanished without anyone witnessing the crime. Missing for several months until Mr. Howard became involved in the case and helped you locate their bodies or rather, their bones. I’m guessing the coroner couldn’t determine a cause of death, but if he did, the evidence confirmed it was strangulation. Does all of this sound about right?”

“And your point is?”

“I’d say there’s enough supporting evidence to suggest a single perpetrator committed these murders.”

“Could be more than one like the Hillside Stranglers.”

Willard fought off a smile. “So you’ll admit these homicides are connected?”

“No,” Killgood said. “I’ll admit there are similarities. Several of the women were either prostitutes or strippers, but two of the victims, Cara Mattingly and Hannah Leeds, were students.”

“College?”

“Only Leeds. Mattingly was still in high school.”

“What does your gut tell you?” Willard asked.

“My gut tells me it’s time for lunch.”

Willard took a long pull on his cigarette and blew smoke across the desk. “Anything new from Mr. Howard?”

Killgood waved a hand in front of his nose. “There’s a no smoking sign in my office for a reason. Mr. Howard was kind enough to just take your cigarette away. I’m not that nice.”

The seriousness of his tone made Willard nervous, but he hid his worry with a casual shrug. “About Mr. Howard?”

Killgood glared at him. “He called me earlier.”

“Oh?”

“Said he had a vision of Stephanie Coldstone.”

Willard sat up straight. “This should be good.”

“Why are you so skeptical?”

“Why are you so gullible?”

Killgood tapped the pistol in his shoulder holder. “First you come into my office and ignore my no smoking sign. Now you accuse me of being gullible. That’s two strikes, Detective. One more and you’ll get a death sentence.”

Willard pulled the cigarette from his mouth and looked for somewhere to put it out. “All right, all right, don’t be pitchin’ a hissy fit. I apologize for questioning your competence. Please continue.”

Killgood handed him an empty soda can and Willard tossed the cigarette inside where it died with a hiss. “As I was saying,” Killgood continued, “Mr. Howard called and said he had a vision of Stephanie with a man. Someone he hasn’t seen before.”

“Good, because I wasted four hours of my life yesterday interviewing her boyfriend because of Mr. Howard’s previous vision.”

“This man is older, middle-aged, with short brown hair and a thin face.”

“Hell of a description. Only fits half the men in the state. Anything else?”

“In his vision Stephanie was crying and appeared to be in pain. Do you think the man might be her father?”

Willard snatched the soda can off the desk and heaved it into a nearby trash can with a bang. “I’ve got a mind to light up another cigarette despite your threat, just to get back at you for coming at me with that bullshit.”

“I never said her father is a suspect.”

“No, but I could see it in your eyes. Now I’m supposed to go after Mr. Coldstone because Mr. Howard had a vision. Glory hallelujah, praise God, the case is solved.”

Killgood picked up a pen and pointed it at him. “You know, somewhere inside you, there’s probably a decent person disguised as an asshole.”

“My wife tells me that all the time.”

“There’s no reason for us to butt heads,” Killgood said. “This is your investigation. Believe in Mr. Howard, don’t believe, that’s up to you.”

“At this point, I’ve no choice but to work with him.” Willard glanced at his watch. “Anything else?”