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“Come on in folks. We can talk inside.” I said holding the door open for them, wondering to myself just how I was going to tell them about their daughter.

  Doc Cavanaugh was ninety-nine percent sure the body of the girl was Christine Sawyer. I would not only have to tell Wayne and Bev their daughter was dead, but also ask them to meet me at the morgue later to make a positive identification. They would have to look at their daughter on a hard, stainless-steel, morgue table and realize exactly what she experienced in the last minutes of her life.

  I closed the door to my office as the Sawyers sat in front of my desk. I felt torn as I looked at them holding hands trying to support each other. They were waiting for me to begin speaking and everything outside of my office ceased to exist for the three of us. My office encompassed their entire world for this instant in time. Their world was about to come crashing down on them like an emotional tsunami, engulfing them in its’ turbulent and emotional surf.

  “The information you were given by the caller is true.” I said. “The Johnson and McKinna boys did find a young woman’s body out at the pond this morning. The young woman seems to fit Christine’s features and age. We have not positively identified the girl as Christine yet… although… Doctor Cavanaugh… does believe its Christine. The doctor will need some time to complete his examination, and then we will need you to come down to the hospital to make a positive identification. I am only sharing this information with you before we know for sure because you came to the police station to ask. We usually would not give out any information until we are absolutely positive. I can only imagine what you must be feeling right now.”

  Bev Sawyer bent forward in her chair putting her face into her hands. She began to rock slightly back and forth, and although she cried, she did not make a sound. Wayne put his hand onto her shoulder and rubbed very lightly. He looked at me with eyes drained of energy from weeks of agonizing torment and I knew that a part of him would be dead along with his daughter when they identified her later today.

  “Chief, can you tell us? Did she suffer?” he asked. “Do you have any idea how long she’s been out there? Do you have any idea who might have done this?”

  I knew these were the same questions I, or any parent, would be asking if sitting in Wayne’s chair. Questions that keep you up at night and haunt you every minute of every day until they are either answered, or they go unanswered until you yourself are buried in the local cemetery. These are questions that perpetuate the nagging, soulful darkness in your heart never allowing you to fully be happy again during your lifetime. Questions that wrap themselves around every thought you have while you wait for answers. Then, if one question is answered, there is still no relief, as another question takes its place.

  “Wayne. All I can tell you at this time is that we do believe it is Christine.” I replied. “But, there is always the slightest chance we are wrong. I don’t want to say for sure until Doc Cavanaugh calls me later today. I know this is a very difficult time for you and Beverly and perhaps there will be some initial closure for you both once Doc calls and asks you to come over to the hospital.”

  I knew my words were no consolation to them right now. They had been given information by someone who wanted to do the right thing by passing on that information, but without all of the details, the Sawyers were thrust into the turmoil of MAYBES and UNKNOWNS. Whichever way this afternoon went at the hospital, the Sawyers were being pulled back into an emotional black hole that is always part losing a child to violence or tragedy. I hoped Peggy and I would never have to experience anything like this in our lifetimes. Wayne held Bev’s shoulders helping her stand to leave my office. Stopping in the office doorway she turned toward me with blank eyes.

  “Chief,” she said. “I want you to promise me. Even if Christine is not the girl you found out there today, that you will not stop looking for the bastard who did this. I do not want another family to have their hearts torn out this way living each day with hopes that they know are really only wishful dreams. Promise me!”

  Her last words trailed off against my ears as they turned and left my office. I knew our next meeting would be much worse for them and I wished there was a way to prevent the anguish that would consume them when they identified Christine’s body at the morgue.

  7

  I put in a call to Ken Garber at the State Police facility in Auburn, a town adjacent to Sutton. Ken was the Captain of this unit of Troopers, and held extensive experience dealing with unusual deaths or serial killer type murders. He once solved a ten year old homicide case involving a missing teenage girl while reviewing a Cold Case file after a neighbor sparked his interest in the unsolved crime at a backyard barbecue. While looking through the crime scene photographs, he spotted someone in the crowd standing almost out of sight behind an adjacent building. The figure was shadowy and grainy, but with today’s new photographic technology, they were able to refine the image and identify the individual. After a few weeks of investigation and going door to door, Ken located the person of interest, who he was able to link to crime scene photos from additional unsolved homicides committed over a three year period. It was Ken’s bloodhound personality I needed to help me get this investigation off of the ground. He would have a lot more pull at the state level than me, and I would not hesitate asking him to collect every favor anyone owed him to increase our chances of catching this killer.

  “Hello, Ken. Chief Kosciak, over in Sutton.”

  “Hey, Ron, how’ve you been? Long time since I’ve heard from you. Things must be pretty quiet over there in Sutton. What can I do for you?”

  “Ken, we believe we have found Christine Sawyer. Her body was discovered this morning by two young boys out sliding. She was facially disfigured, buried in an embankment at Meadow Pond, and is being autopsied as we speak. We don’t know the cause of death yet, but should have more information by the end of the day. There is an unusual mark on the side of her neck about the size of a quarter that we are trying to identify. I’m going to need some help with this one. Our resources are just too limited to perform the kind of investigation that will be required for this case. I’m thinking this is not the first time this killer has abducted and murdered a young woman. When can we meet and put our heads together on this?”

  “How about first thing in the morning,” he replied. “I will make a few calls and get a couple of Troopers assigned to the case right away. I’ll get our crime scene investigators out there this afternoon to start looking over the spot where she was found. Have one of your people call in the location and set up a time. We’ll set up the night lights so we can continue through the night. She may have been out there for almost two months, so we may not find too much in the way of evidence. But, there is always the chance the killer may have dropped something that is hidden in the snow or brush. If there is anything there, we will find it. Ron, I know Bev and Wayne Sawyer, so this one is personal for me. Whatever you need, you’ve got! We need to catch this prick. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  I actually felt better knowing that Ken was now personally involved in this investigation. I also knew Wayne and Beverly Sawyer would be relieved to know Ken was involved. I would make sure to tell them this afternoon at the hospital. Black storm clouds were forming on the horizon and I needed all the help I could get to weather this storm.

  I asked the desk officer to call in the location of the crime scene to the State Police, knowing as I drove over to the morgue that the investigation was now in high gear. The next forty-eight hours would be crucial. We had a crime scene to process, an autopsy to complete and we needed to start looking for other missing and/or murdered women in the New England area who may have suffered the same fate as Christine. We needed to do our homework and we needed to do it as quickly as possible.

  8

  “Chief Kosciak. Doc Cavanaugh here. I’m calling to let you know I checked dental records first before starting the autopsy. The dental records of the girl
found at Meadow Pond verify that our Jane Doe is Christine Sawyer. Preliminary findings, after the external body exam, show that both her ankles and wrists were bound before she was killed. Our internal exam clearly shows no sign of her being sexually assaulted, which means the killer is not interested in sexual intimacy with the victim. This might be a control issue or an ownership issue instead of a sexual needs type of crime. The killer may be more interested in the courtship rather than the wedding night. Other than taking the eyes and lips as probable trophies, the rest of her body does not seem to have been bruised or mistreated. We still do not know how Christine was killed. We cannot find any external wounds that would have caused her death. We will have more conclusive findings later today when we have completed the internal part of the autopsy.”

  “Doc, can you determine what the mark is on the side of Christine’s neck?” I asked. “The one about the size of a quarter: There was some kind of design within the mark we could not see clearly at the pond this morning.”

  “We took a picture of it just a few minutes ago. It’s being enlarged on the computer screen as we speak. Give me a minute to finish the transfer and I’ll bring it up on the screen. Bear with me. I’m not the fastest gun in the West when it comes to digital-image-transferring on a computer. Hmm….It looks like some sort of Gothic design. Like those markings you see tattooed on people’s upper arms or backs, with all of the sharp points and knife-like outlines… just much smaller to fit within a circle of, say, a ring, or a small branding device. It looks like it was applied post mortem. I’ll give it a close look during the autopsy.”

  “Doc, I just met with the Sawyers. Someone at the hospital must have told them about Christine’s body being found at the lake. They are pretty devastated. I’ll need your help later today when I bring them over to identify their daughter.”

  “Alright Chief, I’ll give you a call when we are done and set up for the ID. Call you later.”

  Doc Cavanaugh walked over to the edge of the autopsy table looking down at Christine Sawyer. His eyes surveyed many disfigured people on this table over the past forty-two years: some from automobile accidents; some from industrial accidents and some the result of homicide, but none were purposely disfigured like Christine. Even an old country doctor like Cavanaugh was shaken to his backbone when he first saw her at the pond. He thought about his own daughter living in San Diego with her husband and three children and said a silent prayer to God that they would always be protected.

  Before starting the full post mortem Doc decided to take a second look at the circular mark on Christine’s neck. There was no life-like redness or bruising under the skin as there would be if the mark were made while there was blood moving within the tissue. The skin was a little discolored, but basically, it looked like the mark had been put there after Christine died. The killer intentionally put the mark where it would be found. “Bold Son-of-a-Bitch” thought Cavanagh. “I wonder what the significance of this mark is.” He would e-mail the photos over to the chief and let the police try to answer that question.

  Cavanagh reached over, picking up the scalpel to begin making the “Y” incision on Christine’s sternum for the autopsy. As he held the scalpel, there was something about the mark on her neck that gnawed at him. He wasn’t sure what it was and stood there for about three or four minutes staring at Christine’s neck waiting for some revelation to fall into his brain. He knew there was something he was supposed to be seeing, but for the life of him, he could not yet pin point what that something was.

  “What a waste of life.” He thought. The scalpel silently incised the skin over Christine’s sternum. He would work late tonight to complete the autopsy. The clock said 4:30, and it struck him that lunch time had come and gone. At his age, eating was one of the few luxuries left to look forward to. He thought of himself as a connoisseur of general consumption turning back to the table continuing his work.

  9

  I met with Rick McKinna and his parents early in the evening just before supper time. Rick described the details of his and Davey’s movements up to and including the time they stumbled across Christine’s body at the pond. Although he was still very shaken by the ordeal, he looked to be calming down, I was sure his parents would have him on a very short leash for the next six months. There really was no new information that Rick could add to what we already knew from their previous accounts and the ongoing investigation at the crime scene. It seemed the boys were alone at the pond and no one else was in the area at the time. I was sure this day would be etched into the minds of these two boys for the rest of their lives. I could only hope Davey would recover and be able to go tobogganing down Dead Man’s Hill once again someday soon.

  Stopping at the house on my way over to the morgue, I saw Peggy’s burgundy, Colt van parked in the driveway. This day started out badly, and with the small amount of information we had to go on, I knew things were not going to change much before the end of the day. I would burn my share of mid-night oil tonight at the station.

  Walking through the front door, I noted that we always left the front door open when we were not home. This small, country, town-life gave us a false sense of security. You never think a home invasion or murder can happen to you or yours. It is the old, “it will never happen to me”, philosophy that we all try to believe. But, in my line of work, I should know better. In today’s world, things can happen to anyone, anytime and anywhere. The safest place, unfortunately, was no longer at home!

  “Hey. Is that you in the kitchen baby, or have the mice taken over the house?” I said closing and locking the front door.

  “Yeah, I’m in the kitchen loading the washing machine. Somebody needs to save your cashmere sweaters and cotton pullovers! I’m tired of seeing you wash them with your work clothes and jeans. Then, when you go to wear one of them, it’s shrunken so much you look like a grizzly in a Speedo!” she laughed turning the dial on the machine to start the cycle.

  Peggy had a great sense of humor, but in this instance, she was nicely telling me not to do the wash unless I could learn how to do it: that is, put them into her hamper or suffer her wrath! This would insure the proper life cycle of the garments…and me.

  “Baby, I won’t be home for sup…..” I began to say but, Peggy pointed toward the refrigerator and motioned for me to open the door.

  “I picked you up a pre-cooked chicken at the market on the way home.” she said. “All you have to do is micro-wave it later at the station. Cook it for four minutes on high. I figured you would be working late because of the investigation. I’ll leave a couple of lights on tonight so you don’t trip and break a leg falling over a coffee table or a chair in the dark when you come home!” She walked over to me, put her arms around my neck, looked up into my eyes and said, “Even if you are a clumsy oaf, you are MY clumsy oaf.”

  “That’s what I love about you.” I replied. You are so shy and timid. I don’t think I have ever heard you speak your mind.”

  She slapped my butt, gave me a quick kiss, called me an ass and sat down on one of the kitchen stools looking at me, waiting for me to tell her what was going on. I have learned to be very perceptive and intuitive with Peggy. I can usually tell by her body language just what I am expected to do or say at any given moment. This gift allows me some sort of protection from those times that I am totally incorrect with my assumption!

  “Well, there is not much to say at this point,” I said. “Ken Garber has assigned some officers to the investigation. Doc Cavanagh is performing the post mortem right now and Jeremy Bickford, the State pathologist, will be coming in to help Doc with the post. I spoke with the Sawyers this morning and have to meet them at the hospital sometime today after the post is completed. Those two people have lived this nightmare for over two months. Hopefully, this part will give them some closure. Although, I fear they will never be able to close the gaping hole in their hearts. I hope, when we catch this son-of-a-bitch, that whoever it is
, will resist arrest!”

  Peggy stood up, walked over to me and put her arms around me again. She nestled her face against my chest knowing that this case was very personal for me. I could take the traffic stops, B&E’s and even bar fights seven days a week, but when a crime involved women or children my tendency was to get very emotionally attached.

  “Listen.” She said. “Do whatever you have to do. I will be here or over at Libby’s visiting the grandkids. Take whatever time you need on this one. Give me a call later tonight just to let me know you are alright.” She started to walk away, turned back toward me and asked me the question that had been on her mind right after Christine went missing:

  “Hon, do you think Christine’s murder is just an isolated incident or do you think whoever has done this has done it before?”

  10

  Standing hidden in the night shadows at the end of the alleyway, he watched the entrance to the diner across the street. It was 7:00 pm and the winter, night-time darkness reclaimed hiding spots and crevices exposed during daylight hours. He loved the dark, felt a part of its heartbeat. He belonged to its hidden nature. It concealed things people were afraid to think about.

  Joe’s is a local “greasy spoon” catering to college kids, only a quarter of a mile from the college campus and actually served one of the best hamburgers and crispy fries he had ever eaten in his life. Tonight, there would be more customers than usual for a Wednesday night, because the basketball game had ended about an hour earlier. He knew she would be here. She was predictable. He always sensed the ones who lived their lives according to a time table. It was almost as if their lives would fall apart and disintegrate if they did one spontaneous thing. This made it very easy to monitor his children before allowing them into his family, made them much more accessible when the time came for their adoption.