Profile of Evil Read online

  She sank to her knees, still avoiding eye contact, and began shaking.

  His sister still feared him, and it was a turn-on to note her body trembling. Her fear sent a jolt of lust surging through his body. He wanted to tie her up and beat her with his fists until she was bloody—until she cried for his mercy. Just like Daddy had beaten them long ago.

  "Who helped you?"

  "No one! I swear. After I started the fire, I hiked through the woods until I got to a county road. I walked home."

  "That's ten miles!"

  "I know."

  "Your little car fire was discovered before it had completely burned the car and the bodies," he snarled in a quiet, menacing tone.

  Erin's brown eyes flew to his face. "What does that mean?"

  He slammed his fist on the kitchen counter, and hissed, "It means that fool of a sheriff, Brody Chase, and his idiot detective brother, Cameron, might find evidence I don't want them to find, evidence that could lead to us."

  She pulled herself to her feet and took a cautious step back in case he lost his temper and struck her again. Pressing against the counter, she said, "It was unavoidable. They tried to escape."

  Stepping forward to look more closely at her face, he ran his thumb over bruises now turning purple on her cheeks. Long, red scratches covered her arms and one eye was nearly swollen shut. Brushing away her long bangs from her eyes, he said, "The slaves did this?"

  "Yes. I was trying to save time because I had errands to run. After you left for work, I fed them some oatmeal," she began, whining in a high-pitched voice that unnerved him. "They'd been so docile, not trying to escape, so I thought I could put them into the shower together to save time. When I cut the duct tape from the second slave, the first one held me down while the second one beat my head against the basement floor until I lost consciousness."

  "How did you prevent them from getting away?"

  "When I regained consciousness, I searched the house. When I didn't find them, I went outside. I heard a noise in the barn. They were inside the red Toyota trying to hot wire it to start it. When they saw the gun, they got out of the car and got on their knees."

  "Did you have to kill them?" he asked.

  "Yes! Bitches! How many times did we tell them what would happen if they tried to escape? If I hadn't shot them, they would have tried to get away again, and what were we going to do if they succeeded the next time?"

  He pulled out a kitchen chair for Erin, and sat across from her. "It's done. I'll keep an eye on things."

  "What if they find evidence that leads to me?"

  "Simple. If I think they're getting close, I'll take out Brody and Cameron Chase. I've wanted to kill those self-righteous sonofabitches for a long time. Hell, if I have to, I'll snuff out the entire sheriff's department."

  What he didn't say was that he wouldn't hesitate to wipe his sister from the face of the earth if she ever made a mistake like that again.

  "Should we lay low for a while?"

  "No way. I've got that thirteen-year-old Indianapolis girl almost groomed. It won't be long until I can get her here for an up-close-and-personal visit. And once I get her in that basement, there's no way out."

  <><><>

  Bryan was true to his word, and the autopsy of the body found in the trunk of the burning car started promptly at nine o'clock the next morning. Cam was in the room holding a notepad to take notes, but Brody was nowhere in sight.

  Around ten-thirty, Brody entered the room and stood near Cam, who gave him a knowing glance that Brody ignored. Obviously, his attempt to hide his disdain for autopsies was not a secret from his brother.

  "He started with the body in the trunk first," Cam said.

  Bryan turned off his voice recorder and said to Brody, "Here's what I've discovered thus far. Our victim is a female and is five feet one inches tall and weighs one hundred pounds. I estimate she is between eleven and thirteen years old." Noticing the grimace crossing Brody's face, Bryan paused, and continued. "Cause of death was a gunshot wound to the head by a single bullet, a nine millimeter that was lodged in the forefront of her brain. Manner of death is homicide."

  "So death was immediate?" Brody asked.

  "Yes, she didn't suffer, if that's what you're getting at."

  "Any idea when the killing occurred?" asked Cameron.

  "Yes, I just examined the stomach contents. After a meal, the stomach empties itself in approximately four to six hours, depending on the type and amount of food ingested. Our victim's stomach contains largely undigested food material that looks like oatmeal. The death likely occurred within an hour or two of the meal, which would make it around five-thirty this morning."

  "So that makes time of death about two hours before the farmer discovered the fire at seven-thirty," said Cameron, jotting down the information in his notepad. "So the killer had two hours to get both bodies in the car, clean up the primary crime scene, and drive to where we found the burning car."

  Bryan nodded in agreement and said, "One more thing. She's had her appendix removed. That may help you identify her. In addition, we'll enter her DNA in the Missing Persons DNA Database, as well as the FBI's CODIS DNA databases. I'll let you know if we get a match."

  While Bryan and his assistants cleaned up to get ready to examine the body found in the back seat of the car, Brody and Cameron headed for the break room for coffee. Cameron got to the coffee pot first, poured some in a styrofoam cup for Brody, and got a cup for himself.

  "So why are you here, Brody? We both know how much you hate autopsies. Don't you trust me to get the information to you?"

  "If I didn't trust your abilities, I wouldn't have promoted you to lead detective." Brody responded.

  "Just checking. Sometimes, I feel you're doing the big brother thing to me like you do to Gabe."

  "If our little brother would stay out of trouble and mend his wild ways, I wouldn't have to keep track of him."

  "He's twenty-seven-years-old, Brody. He's not the kid you had to parent when Mom was killed."

  "Thanks for the reminder. I wish I could say he was a mature twenty-seven-years-old. Partying on a regular basis and bedding half the women in the county doesn't add up to maturity for me."

  "Are you still mad at him for dropping out of the police academy?"

  "I was at the time." Brody paused, and rubbed his hand over his face in frustration. "I still don't get his refusal to follow the rules. He likes to bend them too much. His going around the law to get results is going to get him into trouble. Now that he's started a private investigation business, it makes me worry that much more about him. I fear the time will come when he gets himself in legal trouble, and I won't be able to bail him out."

  "It's not a bad idea to hire him to consult sometimes. Gabe's a genius with computers, and he just got his forensic computer examiner certification. We don't have that expertise on the team since Kent Fillion resigned for more money in the private sector."

  "I'll keep that in mind," said Brody. He lifted his cup to finish off his coffee. "I'll be at the office. Come brief me after Bryan finishes with the second victim."

  <><><>

  Junior high school in Indianapolis had not turned out to be the exciting, wondrous place she'd imagined. In fact, gaining weight and getting braces on her teeth had thrown thirteen-year-old Alison Brown into junior high hell. The girl who used to get perfect report cards now barely got by with passing grades.

  Last week, her principal had called her mother and then hauled Alison in for a conference about how much school she'd missed since the beginning of the school year.

  "You must have the wrong student. My Alison hasn't missed a day of school. I know because I work nights, the eleven-to-seven shift. When I get home in the morning, I fix her breakfast and kiss her before she leaves for school."

  Clutching her books to her chest, Alison squirmed in her seat and looked down at the floor. Her large blue eyes filled with tears that streamed down her cheeks.

  "I assure you, Mr
s. Brown, we have the correct student. Alison has missed fourteen days of school, and her teachers tell me the absences are impacting her school work."

  Hearing this information, her mother turned to her daughter and said, "Alison, what's going on?"

  At that point, Alison fessed up and admitted returning to the house and sneaking back into her bedroom, while her mother slept a couple of doors down. The result was a major grounding that included no phone, no computer except for school work, and no going out. Not that the last part was a concern to Alison; her social life had been dead for months now.

  Alison left the principal's office just as the bell rang for second period. She rushed to her locker, unlocked the padlock, and searched for her history book. Suddenly, her locker door slammed against her head, and a long arm appeared from nowhere to knock her books out of her hands.

  "Oh, my gosh, Alison has dropped her books again," said Jody Emmit. "Could she get any clumsier?"

  On her hands and knees, Alison struggled to pick up the books and all the papers that had flown out of her binder. After the lecture and punishment she'd just gotten, she dared not be late for class.

  With her hands on her hips and her cheerleader friends joining her, Jody laughed and said, "Poor Alison." With that, she grabbed the books in Alison's arms and threw them down the hall like they were bowling balls. Jody's friends kicked any remaining books as they scurried away to their classes.

  Alison picked up the books, tucked the papers back into her binder, and then headed for class, praying she could make it before the final bell rang.

  At supper that night, Alison's mom shared the entire principal conference with her stepfather, who grunted and glared at her. To say she hated her stepfather, Raymond, was an understatement. She detested him and wished she had the guts to tell her mother all his dirty secrets. But as much as she hated him, she feared him and what he promised to do—to both her mother and her—if she told what Raymond was doing to her.

  Alison loaded the dinner dishes in the dishwasher, and then went to the family room where her mother and stepfather were watching television. Her mom would leave for work in a few hours.

  "Mom, I have a research project for history class, so I'll need my laptop."

  Her mother nodded and reached under the sofa where she'd hidden Alison's laptop. As she handed it to her daughter, she said, "Just use it for research and nothing else. And your light goes out at eleven, right?"

  "Sure, Mom. Thanks."

  Alison flew up the stairs, went to her bedroom and locked the door behind her. She placed her laptop on her desk, opened it, and entered her password. The only friend she had was waiting for her on Teen Chat, and she didn't want to disappoint him.

  Moments after she logged in to the chat room, she noticed Anthony was online. Alison didn't know how she would have survived the past months without Anthony. He was nothing like the popular kids at school who made fun of her weight and braces.

  Alison and Anthony had spent hours chatting online for the past couple of months, and she'd shared with him her secrets and fears. Alison had told Anthony everything about her life, and he'd understood, offering her comforting words and encouragement.

  One by one, she'd lost her friends from sixth grade. In a way, she didn't blame them. They were as afraid of her bullies as she was. As long as they stayed friends with her, they risked Jody and her gang focusing on them. After seeing what was being done to her, why would they want the same? So she'd lost their friendships and had become lonelier than she thought possible.

  That's when Anthony came into her life through Teen Chat. She could tell him anything and he understood. He often told her that he wished they lived closer and went to the same school. Anthony would make sure her bullies never bothered her again. But as it was, Anthony was sixteen, attended high school, and lived near Morel, an hour and a half away from where she lived in Indianapolis.

  An hour later, Alison closed her laptop for the night and put on her pajamas. She felt better about things after telling Anthony what had happened that day. He always knew the right things to say to make her feel better.

  She checked the time on her clock. It was nearly ten-thirty and her mom would leave soon for work. Alison pulled the lamp off the top of her four-drawer dresser and placed it on the floor. She then pushed the dresser in front of her bedroom door. Hearing footfalls on the stairs, she turned off her lamp and got into bed. Listening, barely breathing, she waited until the footsteps stopped at her door. The knob creaked as it twisted.

  "C'mon, Alison. Open up. Don't you want to talk about what happened today? I can be a good listener."

  Gritting her teeth, Alison listened as her stepfather stuck something hard and metallic in the door lock. She gasped when the door opened and slammed against the dresser.

  "You little bitch. Move this dresser now!" He screamed.

  "Go away," she pleaded. "Please go away."

  After hammering the door with his fist a couple of times, he said, "You'll pay for this. Mark my words, bitch."

  Alison listened as she heard him walk away. A short time later, she heard him close his bedroom door. She was safe from him—at least for tonight.

  Closing her eyes, she hoped she'd dream of Anthony.

  <><><>

  Cameron entered Brody's office, sat in one of the guest chairs, and waited for his brother to get off the phone. Glancing at Brody's bookcase, he noticed a photo taken when he and Gabe were teenagers; they were holding fishing poles, as well as the fish they'd caught. The photo next to it was taken at his police academy graduation. Brody was all smiles and had his arm around his shoulders. Another photo was of Gabe in his high school football jersey, taken after a winning game. He focused his attention back on his oldest brother and thought of what a good father he'd make someday. He'd certainly done his best with Gabe and him when they'd lost Mom.

  "So tell me about the second victim," said Brody, even before he'd hung up the phone.

  Cameron opened his notepad, though most of the information was in his memory. "Bryan thinks she was closer to thirteen or fourteen, a little older than the vic in the trunk. Cause of death the same—gunshot to the back of the head. This time the bullet entered at the back of the skull and exited out the front. As you know, no casing was found at the scene."

  "The killer probably killed them one after the other, using the same gun, so we're looking for a nine mil. Send the slug to ATF in Indianapolis to get an official identification."

  Cameron shot Brody an incredulous glare, then continued. "Seriously? Do you really think I didn't plan to, Brody? It's not like I'm a rookie."

  "Sorry, Cam."

  "Do you want me to go on?"

  Brody nodded, and Cameron continued, "This girl had oatmeal for breakfast, too, just like the first victim, so Bryan estimates her time of death is the same. Bryan's team is checking the Missing Persons DNA Database, as well as CODIS."

  "I can tell by your expression that there's more to tell."

  Cameron paused, then said, "Bryan found bruising and abrasions in a circular pattern around each girl's neck. He thinks they were both wearing some kind of collar that was too tight. Maybe even a dog collar."

  "Sick."

  "There's more. There was extensive vaginal tearing, abrasions and scarring that suggests they'd been raped repeatedly."

  Disgusted, Brody shook his head, and asked, "Do you have the license plate number with you?"

  Cameron nodded, flipped a page in his notepad and handed it to Brody.

  "Let's run this baby." Brody plugged the number into the database, and then turned his computer screen so Cameron could see the results, too.

  "There," said Cameron as he pointed toward the screen. "Car belongs to Tillie Bradford. She lives in Gary, Indiana."

  "Yeah, and there's a note to call Detective Rodney Williams."

  Brody dialed the detective's number and put his phone on speaker. As soon as Williams answered, Brody introduced himself, as well as Cameron.

>   "We had a 1996 red Toyota Corolla on fire here in Perrysville. When we ran the tags, we saw the note to call you."

  "We've been looking for that car and the girl who took it for nine months," Detective Williams said. "The car belongs to Tillie Bradford, a single mom here in Gary. Tillie's thirteen-year-old daughter, Sophia, took the red Toyota Corolla when she ran away."

  "Are you telling me a thirteen-year-old, without a driver's license, drove that car all the way to Shawnee County? That's a two and a half hour drive."

  "Her mother says she's a little out of control," he responded. "I'd say a lot out of control. One thing though, that girl is smart or was being advised by someone who knew how to disappear. We ran into one dead end after another. It was strange."

  "No kidding?"

  "So are you holding Sophia? Are you sending her back to Gary?"

  "There were two bodies in the car, both shot in the head at close range. I think your Sophia is one of them."

  "Damn, I hate to hear that. I'd really hoped we'd find her and return her to her mom." Detective Williams paused for a second, then continued. "If you need anything for a definite identification by your forensic odontologist, I have her dental records. We collected them from Sophia's dentist."

  "That would really help."

  "I'll email them now. Let me know if one of the bodies is Sophia so I can tell her mom," said Detective Williams. "Since the murder took place on your turf, I'll send you my file on Sophia, and her mother’s contact information. I know you'll want to talk to her."

  <><><>

  Early the next morning, Cameron entered Dr. Bryan Pittman's office to find him with his feet up on his desk, his face covered by the report he was reading.

  "What's a man got to do to get a cup of coffee around here?" Cameron asked, as he tossed a bag of muffins at Bryan's report.

  "What the hell?" Bryan started to pick up the report, which now was spread across the floor. "The coffee pot is in the break room, and you know damned well it is. What's up?"