“Yeah, finally.” Vito went to the whiteboard and wrote their names in the first two blocks of the second row on the grave diagram. “Arthur Vartanian and his wife, Carol. Ages fifty-six and fifty-two. Come from a small town in Georgia called Dutton.”
“And he’s a freakin’ judge,” Nick added, slumping into the chair beside Jen.
“Interesting,” Scarborough said. “Arthur Vartanian was the one murder of passion. Maybe he sentenced the killer to prison.”
“But why did he kill them here and not in Dutton, Georgia?” Katherine asked. “And why leave those two empty graves?”
Vito sighed. “We’ll add those questions to the list. Let’s cover the tape first.”
“That’s why I’m here,” Scarborough said. “Nick wanted me to hear it.”
Nick handed Jen a CD and she put it in her laptop, positioning the small speakers she’d connected and turning the laptop to Nick. “I’ve listened to this four or five times already,” Nick said. “There are periods of dead tape, so we’ll fast-forward through those. Electronics cleaned it up as best they could. Part of the static is that it’s a cell phone. The other part is that the phone is covered, probably in a pocket or something.”
“We checked Jill Ellis’s LUDs.” Jen said. “She made a call to Greg’s cell phone at 3:30 yesterday afternoon. She received this call at 4:25.”
Nick hit play and the CD began with a ragged moan that made everyone flinch.
“Scream all you want. No one can hear you. No one will save you. I’ve killed them all.” It went on, the killer promising to make Greg suffer and Greg pleading pitifully. “It’s time for your ride in my time machine. Now you’ll see what happens to thieves.”
Nick fast-forwarded. “He drags him for a minute, then there’s a bang, like a door being opened too hard. And then this.” He hit play and they heard squeaking that echoed softly. “There’s about five minutes of dead space. And then…” He hit play.
There was a scraping sound, then the killer’s voice. “Welcome to my dungeon, Mr. Sanders. You will not enjoy your stay.”
Another thud, then the volume dropped. “We think he took off Greg’s coat and dropped it next to him. Greg’s cell phone’s still connected, but it gets hard to hear in some places.” Nick’s jaw tightened. “In others it’s way too loud.”
“You are a thief and… subject to penalties… law.” More dragging and crashing and fevered pleas from Greg Sanders that nauseated Vito. Then more squeaking.
“He’s rolling something,” Nick said, then closed his eyes tight, waiting.
The scream left sweat beading on Vito’s forehead. “What the hell was that?”
“Don’t worry,” Nick said grimly. “You’ll get to hear it again.”
And they did, as Greg Sanders screamed again. “You bastard. You fucking bastard. Oh, God.” A big crash, then Greg’s screams became moans.
“See what you’ve made me do. What a mess. Sit up. Sit up.” There was scraping and more dragging and the labored breathing of exertion. “Now we can proceed.”
“You… you bastard.” It was Greg’s voice, very faint. “My hand… My…” A broken sob of anguish.
“And… foot. See, you… common thief… stole… church… special punishment.”
More words followed. Vito leaned forward to hear them, but jerked back when Greg shrieked again. It was a hideous wail, part agony, part terror. It didn’t sound human.
Liz lifted her hands. “Nick, turn it off. That’s enough.”
Nick nodded and stopped the CD, leaving a thick silence broken only by the sound of their own heavy breathing. “It pretty much ends there,” Nick said. “Greg screams some more, then I think he passes out. After five minutes of dead space the tape ends. One of the guys in Electronics is trying to place the sounds, the squeaks and bangs.”
Scarborough exhaled quietly. “I’ve been a psychologist for twenty years. I’ve never heard anything like this. Your killer showed no remorse, and beyond the slamming and banging, I heard no real rage in his voice. There was only disdain and contempt.”
Jen took her hand from her mouth where it had been clamped throughout most of the tape. “He said ‘Stole… church,’” she said unsteadily. “Greg stole in a church, from a church? Maybe he killed Greg in a church?”
“Before he started cutting his foot, he was chanting. I heard ‘ecclesia,’” Tim said.
“I heard it, too. It’s Latin for ‘church,’” Vito said. “I was an altar boy,” he added when Nick looked surprised. “Really. I was.”
Tim dabbed at his forehead with his handkerchief. “Same here. I heard that word more than enough times during mass. The question is, why did he use it?”
“I’d like to know what he did with Gregory’s hand and foot,” Katherine said quietly. “They weren’t with the body.”
“Or anywhere near the scene,” Jen added. “I even brought in cadaver dogs.”
Vito looked at Thomas. “He said Greg was going to ride on his time machine, then welcomed him to his dungeon. Is he crazy?”
Thomas shook his head forcefully. “In a clinical sense, almost certainly not. He’s acquired instruments of torture, whether he bought them or made them himself. He’s lured his victims with planning and forethought. He’s not crazy. I think the time machine reference is part of his… fun.”
“Fun,” Vito said bitterly. “I can’t wait to find this guy.”
“I suppose it’s too much to hope that Greg’s phone had a GPS,” Liz said.
Nick shook his head. “Throwaway. His old cell was disconnected for nonpayment.”
Beverly cleared her throat. “He found Greg through the model site. Greg’s résumé is posted, but his Septic Service ads aren’t listed. I guess he wasn’t proud of them.”
“So Munch didn’t know he was a local icon,” Nick said. “Coupled with his charmin’ drawl”-Nick accentuated his own-“we can assume he’s not from ’round here.”
Vito nodded. “Munch has a southern accent, as did the Vartanians. Coincidence?”
“At the risk of making myself a suspect,” Nick said dryly, “no, not a coincidence.”
“The Vartanians were from Georgia,” Katherine said, her brows crunched in thought. “So was Claire Reynolds.”
“You’re right,” Vito agreed. “Again, not a coincidence. In fact, it’s our first solid link between victims other than the UCanModel website. Perhaps the Vartanian family can tell us if Claire and Arthur and Carol knew each other. How about the autopsy reports?”
“I autopsied Claire Reynolds and the elderly lady on the first row. I got nothing more to help you identify the old woman. She had a broken neck, just like Carol Vartanian and Claire. I did get the final report from the lab on the silicone spray. It’s a special blend. They didn’t know who made it.”
From his folder Vito pulled the magazine that he’d gotten from Dr. Pfeiffer that morning. “Claire’s doctor said companies advertise their lotions in the back. Claire definitely would have used lotion, but her doctor said she bought it from him.”
Jen took the magazine. “She could have bought it from one of these, too. I’ll work on tracking the special formula to one of these manufacturers.”
“Thanks. Here are the Claire letters. One’s from Pfeiffer, the other from the library.”
Jen took the letters, as well. “I’ll get them to the lab, along with examples of Claire’s handwriting. We’ll see if anything shakes.”
“Good. Bev and Tim, what did you find at UCanModel dotcom?”
“Nothing for a while,” Bev said. “We were searching models who’d either gotten hits on their résumé or e-mails from E. Munch. Interestingly, Munch only e-mailed four people-Warren, Brittany, Bill, and Greg. Nobody else.”