Post by plague on Jan 26, 2008 17:57:14 GMT -5
There had been 2 murders since Memorial Day. It was already the 4th of July and Detective John Henry Bridges was sweating like a nun in a porn shop. The city of Anderson hadn’t seen a murder in 9 years, John’s second year as a police officer. Normally, all three of Anderson’s detectives had the holidays off, but there was just something about 2 murders and the disappearance of the mayor’s 18 year old daughter that made the city uneasy and desperate for the suspect to be captured.
The small office felt more like a crypt with barely enough room for a desk, chair, and filing cabinet. A bulletin board hung behind the desk that held various newspaper articles and photographs involving the murders of Kelly Jenkins and Trina Barry, the unfortunate victims of Anderson’s first serial killer. An 8x10 color photograph of a smiling Elizabeth Doughty hung by itself in the corner of the board. John Henry wondered if she was smiling now. He doubted it.
He cupped his face in his hands and tried to puzzle together the clues that were staring him in the face. The facts were that there were 2 dead girls, one was found May 5th and the other on Memorial Day. Both victims were strangled with a red scarf that was neatly tied around the neck of the girls. The girls had been placed at the scene, meaning that they had been killed elsewhere. No other evidence or witnesses had been found. It was as if the suspect killed the girls, and vanished into thin air. The information on the red scarf had not been released to the press. Both girls had been in their late teens and were college students that did not know each other.
In the last month, John Henry had interviewed 14 possible suspects and canvassed the area where the victims were found, 3 times, each time with the same result. The Cope County Sheriff’s Department and Illinois State Police had assisted in the investigation and appeared even more puzzled than John Henry.
He leaned back in his chair and stared at the mess of paperwork on his desk. Somewhere beneath the pile was a 5x7 picture of his 5 year old daughter Jill and 7 year old son, William. He often called his recent ex-wife and reminded her of the current situation. It usually ended in her hanging up on him or her asking for more money. He was the one that had the right to be angry, after all, she was the one screwing his best friend.
It was almost 6:00p.m. and the office was quiet. The fireworks were due to start in 2 hours. This would be the first year that he didn’t have the kids to watch the display with. He was never one to wallow in self pity, he had plans for the evening. He could see the fireworks clearly from his attic. He would grab a case of beer on the way home and enjoy his evening.
He locked the office door behind him and exited the police department. The air was thick and muggy, it reminded him of trying to breath in a sauna. It was surprisingly quiet, he could hear the cars on the main drag, about 8 blocks away, but the downtown area was dead quiet. He walked toward the parking lot when he saw a thin man in his 40's walking toward him. He recognized him as Detective Stan Brown from the Sheriff’s Department. He smiled as he neared John Henry and stuck out his hand. John Henry shook his hand, amazed at the strength in the skinny man’s hands.
“What’s up Johnny?”
“Not a lot, just headed home.”
“Anything new on the case?”
John Henry looked to his vehicle parked a few spaces away. It seemed that was the only conversation to be had in Anderson. “Nothing new, just playing the waiting game.”
“Gotta be tough on the Mayor, don’t know what I’d do if someone kidnapped my daughter.”
John Henry took a step toward his car. He’d heard that same statement a million times, and that was just today. Everyone had the inner fear, so he couldn’t really blame them. How many times had he thought the same thing? “It definitely is. I gotta pick up the kids, you take it easy.”
“You too, if you need anything, just ask.”
Stan meant well, but he also knew that he would probably be the last person that he would ever ask for help. He remembered when Stan was a road deputy and how many times he’d screwed up simple cases. He couldn’t imagine what the county was thinking, promoting him to detective.
John Henry stopped off at the liquor store and grabbed a case of beer and avoided the traffic on his way home. He pulled into the driveway and walked up to the door of the rundown ranch style home. He stopped at the doorway and saw that the front door was ajar. He nudged the door open and removed the pistol from its holster. Once inside of the dimly lit house, he sat the beer down and closed the door.
It was possible that he hadn’t closed the door shut, but it wasn’t like him not to double check and make sure that the door was closed tight. There didn’t appear to be any damage to the doorlock, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He swept through the lower portion of the house without any problems. He stopped in the living room and listened. He heard a faint noise coming from the attic. He listened a bit longer, but could no longer hear anything.
Slowly, he made his way to the flimsy steps that led to the attic. The steps creaked beneath his feet and he cursed each step under his breath. The attic was illuminated by the sun coming through a dusty window. The corner of the attic was engulfed in shadow. He could hear breathing coming from the darkness. Slowly, he made his way to the corner, seeing more and more definition as he neared. He was a couple steps away and could clearly see a cot, but what caught his attention was what was laying on the cot.
The girl was no more than 20 years old with long blonde hair and striking features. Her hands were handcuffed to a post behind her, and her feet were tied at the foot of the cot. Her mouth was wrapped at least twice with duct tape. Fear filled her eyes and tears ran down her cheeks.
He put his gun away and smiled at the girl. “Hi, Elizabeth.”
He walked over to the closet door and disappeared from her sight. He soon reappeared, holding a red scarf.
The small office felt more like a crypt with barely enough room for a desk, chair, and filing cabinet. A bulletin board hung behind the desk that held various newspaper articles and photographs involving the murders of Kelly Jenkins and Trina Barry, the unfortunate victims of Anderson’s first serial killer. An 8x10 color photograph of a smiling Elizabeth Doughty hung by itself in the corner of the board. John Henry wondered if she was smiling now. He doubted it.
He cupped his face in his hands and tried to puzzle together the clues that were staring him in the face. The facts were that there were 2 dead girls, one was found May 5th and the other on Memorial Day. Both victims were strangled with a red scarf that was neatly tied around the neck of the girls. The girls had been placed at the scene, meaning that they had been killed elsewhere. No other evidence or witnesses had been found. It was as if the suspect killed the girls, and vanished into thin air. The information on the red scarf had not been released to the press. Both girls had been in their late teens and were college students that did not know each other.
In the last month, John Henry had interviewed 14 possible suspects and canvassed the area where the victims were found, 3 times, each time with the same result. The Cope County Sheriff’s Department and Illinois State Police had assisted in the investigation and appeared even more puzzled than John Henry.
He leaned back in his chair and stared at the mess of paperwork on his desk. Somewhere beneath the pile was a 5x7 picture of his 5 year old daughter Jill and 7 year old son, William. He often called his recent ex-wife and reminded her of the current situation. It usually ended in her hanging up on him or her asking for more money. He was the one that had the right to be angry, after all, she was the one screwing his best friend.
It was almost 6:00p.m. and the office was quiet. The fireworks were due to start in 2 hours. This would be the first year that he didn’t have the kids to watch the display with. He was never one to wallow in self pity, he had plans for the evening. He could see the fireworks clearly from his attic. He would grab a case of beer on the way home and enjoy his evening.
He locked the office door behind him and exited the police department. The air was thick and muggy, it reminded him of trying to breath in a sauna. It was surprisingly quiet, he could hear the cars on the main drag, about 8 blocks away, but the downtown area was dead quiet. He walked toward the parking lot when he saw a thin man in his 40's walking toward him. He recognized him as Detective Stan Brown from the Sheriff’s Department. He smiled as he neared John Henry and stuck out his hand. John Henry shook his hand, amazed at the strength in the skinny man’s hands.
“What’s up Johnny?”
“Not a lot, just headed home.”
“Anything new on the case?”
John Henry looked to his vehicle parked a few spaces away. It seemed that was the only conversation to be had in Anderson. “Nothing new, just playing the waiting game.”
“Gotta be tough on the Mayor, don’t know what I’d do if someone kidnapped my daughter.”
John Henry took a step toward his car. He’d heard that same statement a million times, and that was just today. Everyone had the inner fear, so he couldn’t really blame them. How many times had he thought the same thing? “It definitely is. I gotta pick up the kids, you take it easy.”
“You too, if you need anything, just ask.”
Stan meant well, but he also knew that he would probably be the last person that he would ever ask for help. He remembered when Stan was a road deputy and how many times he’d screwed up simple cases. He couldn’t imagine what the county was thinking, promoting him to detective.
John Henry stopped off at the liquor store and grabbed a case of beer and avoided the traffic on his way home. He pulled into the driveway and walked up to the door of the rundown ranch style home. He stopped at the doorway and saw that the front door was ajar. He nudged the door open and removed the pistol from its holster. Once inside of the dimly lit house, he sat the beer down and closed the door.
It was possible that he hadn’t closed the door shut, but it wasn’t like him not to double check and make sure that the door was closed tight. There didn’t appear to be any damage to the doorlock, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He swept through the lower portion of the house without any problems. He stopped in the living room and listened. He heard a faint noise coming from the attic. He listened a bit longer, but could no longer hear anything.
Slowly, he made his way to the flimsy steps that led to the attic. The steps creaked beneath his feet and he cursed each step under his breath. The attic was illuminated by the sun coming through a dusty window. The corner of the attic was engulfed in shadow. He could hear breathing coming from the darkness. Slowly, he made his way to the corner, seeing more and more definition as he neared. He was a couple steps away and could clearly see a cot, but what caught his attention was what was laying on the cot.
The girl was no more than 20 years old with long blonde hair and striking features. Her hands were handcuffed to a post behind her, and her feet were tied at the foot of the cot. Her mouth was wrapped at least twice with duct tape. Fear filled her eyes and tears ran down her cheeks.
He put his gun away and smiled at the girl. “Hi, Elizabeth.”
He walked over to the closet door and disappeared from her sight. He soon reappeared, holding a red scarf.