BODY COUNT: Killers (a novel): Chapter 26. The End Game

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Next morning, Blake’s whole team – less Shelley, who had gone to Seattle – were gathered in Operations. Each team member had a sheet of paper listing all of the roving security guards who fit Mary’s profile of the Hometown Killer. All of the guards were black males and drove the standard, small pickup truck used in Memphis for roving security checks, with a company logo on the doors, so they would be easy to spot.
    Under each man’s name, Peter had added personal information about him. Mary asked her teammates to independently pick and highlight the names of the men they thought most likely suspects. After 30 minutes, she collected the papers and reviewed the picks. A few minutes later she entered three of the names into her computer and sent them to the big screen.
    “Here are the names that every one of you picked. All three of these men had reason to be within the kill zone sometime during the night of each killing, and any one of them could be our killer. In the backgrounds I sketched, I allowed for the fact that the killer might have been traveling outside Memphis for some reason other than for work, like maybe he was hunting for a job, or he was homeless. For whatever reason, only one of these three men was traveling because of his job – a guy by the name of Howard Johnson – no middle initial, like the name of the restaurants. The second one we can’t find anywhere before Memphis, one Antwan Devonte Jones. The third one was unemployed and free to go and come as he pleased, one Jeffrey Lee Thomas. But now all three of them are working as security guards. The only one with any known criminal record is Thomas, but it’s just a couple of old D.U.I.’s. We don’t know about Jones, though – as I said, he’s not on the radar at all.”
    Wayne walked to the screen. “It’s Thursday night again and there’s a full moon – let’s make it the killer’s last night of freedom. Peter, we’ll need three GPS trackers to place on the trucks these guys are driving. You’ll be able to let us know where they are at all times and we can follow each one from a distance. We’ll need three tracking teams. Unless someone has a problem with this pairing, I say, Bobby and Rainbow, Taylor and Bob, and Blake and me.”
    Blake offered, “I can bring in the MPD if you think they’re needed. However, if I do, they’ll take over the case. It’s your call.”
    Wayne said, “I think we can handle it without them.”
    Blake looked around the room. “Do you all feel that way?” All of the heads nodded in agreement. “Then take the rest of the day off and return here at 6:00 tonight.”
    Back in his office, Blake found two more files from Peter. Both had names and phone numbers penned on the outside, at which Blake smiled. One was from St. Louis, Missouri. The other was from a little town in Alabama by the name of Decatur. Blake had been to Decatur years ago. The few things he remembered about the town were that the front of the city was always lined with barges waiting to go down the Tennessee River and that a long bridge called Beeline Highway or Alternate 72 crossed the river and it was next to a long railroad bridge doing the same. He didn’t remember much about the town, because he was only passing through, but he did have the impression it was a clean, nice town.
    There had been six murders in that clean, nice town, and all of the bodies had been dumped along the railroad tracks across the river in what was known as the Swan Creek Wildlife Management Area. Blake couldn’t understand why the sheriff hadn’t already called them serial killings.
    He picked up his phone and dialed the number on the front of the file. “Hello, Sheriff Banks? This is Blake Harris. We sent you some information dealing with a possible serial killer in your area.”
    Banks’ strong, assured voice came over Blake’s phone. “Yes, Harris, I got your information. However, you’re missing some important facts.”
    Blake liked the sound of Sheriff Ted Banks. “I’m sure there are a lot of things you know that we have no idea about. That’s why we only offer the help you think you need. But tell me, what facts lead you to believe there is no serial killer?”
    “Harris, have you ever been a member of a local police department?”
    Blake laughed. “I just retired as Captain from the Memphis PD after 30 years. Also, I know what a pain in the ass it is when the Feds come into a case. But we don’t work that way. We run a separate investigation from yours. We’ll offer any and all the information you need or want while looking at the case from our point of view.”
    Banks didn’t sound convinced. “Here’s the deal, Harris. We have a very active white nationalist group here in Decatur. They call themselves a paramilitary militia. They have demonstrations, marches, and all kinds of shit like that. When I was a kid these same assholes were called the KKK. Different name, same beliefs. I’ve had six killings, and the victims are the same races that the KKK have always targeted. Four were black and two were Mexicans. They were tortured, then hanged and dumped in a rural location. I can understand why you might think it’s a serial killer. While the killings do follow a pattern, it’s one that has been passed down from father to son in Morgan County over the years.”
    Blake thought for a moment before he spoke. “Sheriff, I see where you’re coming from, and why you believe what you do. If I were there, I’d be putting my resources toward this group also. But the murders could still have been done by a serial killer, even one who is a member of this militia you mentioned. He could even be hiding who and what he is from the rest of the members of that group. Would you send me all the information you have on them and let me run it through our computer? Then, if we find anything, we’ll give you an updated report. That could help you.”
    A very less combative voice came over the phone. “Thanks, Harris, that would be great. It’s not that I don’t want your help—”
    Blake broke in, “That’s all it is – help – I promise.”
    “I’ll get the information out to you today,” Banks said, “and if you get over our way, stop in and I’ll buy you a cup of coffee for your trouble.”
    Cheerfully, Blake said, “I’ll do that, Banks.”
    Clicking off the call, Blake picked up the St. Louis file.
    He had barely opened the file when his phone rang. “This is Blake.”
    Shelley’s happy voice came over the phone. “Just wanted to check in with you.”
    Blake had started to call Shelley once or twice but didn’t, so he was glad to hear from her. “How are things going in the Great Northwest?”
    She was laughing. “I love it up here. Everything is so green, and the water and sky are the deepest blues I have ever seen. But it’s a little cold.”
    Blake cleared his throat. “I meant with the case. How are things coming along with the case?”
    “I’m sorry,” Shelley replied, sounding somewhat embarrassed. “’Course you meant the case. Leo had already gone through a number of suspects. Most were local and bore no fruit. This was before we contacted him and he noticed more murders in his area that, as he puts it, had the same smell to them.”
    Blake was trying to think of a way to warn her about boundaries, without sounding like a hypocrite. “Don’t make the same mistake I did, Shelley. I’d feel better if we were talking about ‘Captain Hawkins’ rather than ‘Leo’.”
    “It’s nothing like that,” Shelley said. “It’s true he’s quite handsome, but that wasn’t why I called him by his first name. Captain Hawkins runs his department a lot like you do ours. Everybody is called by their first name. He was in Special Forces and that was how they did it – and he likes the idea.”
    Blake was tired and hungry. “Shelley, just be careful, and don’t get too friendly with the locals. And in your reports please refer to Leo as Captain Hawkins. Also, try and wrap this up before Christmas. I don’t want to carry this into the New Year if I don’t have too.”
    Blake was about to switch off when Shelley said, “Wait, wait, there’s something else.”
    “What is it?”
    “Captain Hawkins has what he believes to be a picture of the murderer, but they can’t enhance it enough for an I.D. He sent it to the FBI but they sent it right back, saying they couldn’t do anything with it. My money’s on Peter.”
    Blake was wondering why she needed to tell him something that would be in her report, but then it dawned on him, and he said, “That’s great news, Shelley! You’re doing a wonderful job up there. Make sure you keep me updated.”
    He could feel the smile across the miles. “I’ll do that, Sir.”
    He made a mental note to start thanking his people more for their hard work. He went to the kitchen in Operations and made a sandwich and got a Coke.
    He went back to his office and called Chief Watkins in St Louis. He had hardly got out who he was when he was cut off by, “If I need the Feds, I’ll call them. Don’t fuck with my cases.” The chief slammed the phone down in Blake’s ear.
    Blake thought, what the hell, and lay down on the couch, where he ate his sandwich and drank his Coke and was soon fast asleep.
    Taylor’s voice woke him a few hours later. “It’s 5:30, boss. Time to get ready for tonight.”

Copyright © 2019, 2020 by Ed Rogers