Chapter Thirty-Eight
“Did you find those pictures?” I ask as Sam comes into the house.
“Most of them. I can pull up more on the computer. Care to tell me what’s going on?” he asks.
“Just bring them over here. I need to look before I can be sure,” I tell him.
He obliges, and I kneel down on the floor beside the coffee table to get a better view of the pictures he spreads out in front of me. They are enlarged glossy versions of crime scene pictures and autopsies. I arrange them carefully and scan each, taking in every detail.
"All of these are from Massachusetts and Connecticut," he points out.
"I know. Can you pull up the other ones I asked for?" I rearrange the pictures. "A few years ago, we looked into a case, but it never really pieced itself together. There wasn't much to go on, and the only real reason they called the Bureau in was because it crossed state lines."
"But nothing ever came of it?" Sam asks.
"No," I shake my head. "It's technically still under investigation, but it's long cold."
"Why do I get the feeling you're warming it right up?"
"That's what I'm going for."
"What was the case?" he asks.
"Over the course of about two months, eleven bodies were found scattered across a fairly small area straddling Massachusetts and Connecticut. They were all in similar stages of decomposition, with some variation based on where exactly they were found, how much was exposed, and other factors. But it was enough to make the determination they were all killed and left in the area within a very short time of each other, possibly even at the same time."
"Eleven murder victims at the same time?" Sam asks. "A spree killer?"
"That was our initial thought. Until we really started looking at the victims. These victims," I point at the pictures on the table in front of us, "I didn't think it would be too hard to find the killer. It was a case we definitely tried not to sensationalize. We kept media down as much as we could and limited news exposure. With something like this, you can never know who might be inspired by it. Keeping our investigation under wraps also meant fewer gawkers at the burial site. But it's impossible to keep something of this magnitude completely hidden. Crime scene photos leaked and autopsy reports ended up on the news. It was a disaster."
"I can't remember hearing anything about something like that," he muses.
I nod. "You probably did, you just aren't connecting it. It was managed. Usually presented as a 'mass grave with an indeterminate number of bodies' or as several different cases. But the investigation stalled. We couldn't make any connections between the victims or figure out how they got there. It was very clear they were all linked. Each of the eleven victims was male, within ten years of each other in age, and extremely similar physical features and proportions."
"Like eleven versions of the same person."
"Something like that," I answer.
"If you already worked on this case, why didn't you just ask the Bureau for the case files?" Sam asks.
"I don't want to get them involved just yet. Besides, this case is a sticking point for Creagan. He doesn't like anything marring his record. Multiple unsolved murders is definitely not something he appreciates. If he knew I was looking into it again, he'd be furious. So, for now, it's leaked scans and public access documents. Not ideal, but they work," I say.
"What happened to the victims?" he asks.
"They all showed signs of being starved, beaten, and put through extreme physical exertion in the months leading up to their deaths. A few of them seemed to have died from those factors. Others were shot in the base of the skull."
"They were executed."
I nod. "Like they all outlived their usefulness at the same time. There was one other thing they all shared." I pick up two images. One is from the crime scene where the man's body sprawled in the dirt, barely covered with branches. The other was from an autopsy of another of the men. “Look at their wrists. Do you see the scars?"
"It looks like they were bound with something," Sam squints.
"That's what it seemed like at first, but looking at the scars further, we found out they were actually burns. The characteristics of them suggested hot metal."
"Handcuffs?" Sam asks.
"Since each of the men only had one scar, it seemed much more likely it was a bracelet. There was tremendous breakdown of the skin around the scars, but on one of the victims, the burn had a symbol in it. It didn't match anything in any of our databases, and we could never find who it belonged to."
I lift my eyes to Sam and see the realization form in his gaze.
"First thing in the morning, I'll make some calls, start forming a team," he says. "We don't have a task force equipped to handle something like this, but we'll reach out to the departments in the area and see what they can provide. It isn't our jurisdiction…"
“No, it isn’t,” I interrupt. “This case just blew open and no offense, but you have nowhere near the resources you’ll need.”
“So what do we do?”
I give a heavy sigh and rub my fingers on the bridge of my nose.
“I’ll call Eric,” I finally say. “I really don’t want to talk to Creagan right now, but this is way above us at this point.”
Sam nods and starts helping me pick up the pictures. I’ve gathered up a big stack in my hand when I notice something on the floor under the edge of the couch.
"What's that?" Sam asks.
I stare at it, baffled by what I'm seeing.
"It's my father's birth certificate from the midwife in Iowa," I tell him.
"See? It wasn’t actually missing. It must have just fallen on the floor and got kicked under the couch," he says.
I shake my head. "I looked under there. Several times. It wasn't there."
"Well, it must have been, because there it is."
"No, Sam, something's different about it."
"What do you mean something's different about it?" he asks.
"Look." I climb to my feet and hold it out to him. "Remember the 'X' that wasn't in either single or multiple births? It moved."
"Things don't just move on forms, Emma," he says.
"It's not in the same spot. The 'X' was close to the multiple birth box and even had one of its legs in that box. Remember? We had a whole discussion about it. Now it's in the middle, not touching the box at all."
"You must be remembering wrong," he says.
I take out my phone and search through the gallery until I find the picture I took of the form.
"This is the original," I tell him, showing him my phone. "This one has been altered." I look at the paper in my hand, more carefully. "I need to go back to the storage unit."
"Now?" he asks. “What about the case?”
"Yes, now. I need to see what's in the other boxes and then go through the pictures I put in the attic. We can't do anything about the rest of this until tomorrow. I’ll call Eric on the way."
"Alright. Let's go."
I hang up the phone, just having sent the last of all the information we have in an email. I know Creagan will probably round on me when he finds out I’ve been working on this, but hopefully, the idea of finally solving his long-cold case will soften his heart. Maybe. I’m not actually sure Creagan even has a heart.
But there’s not much else I can do about it right now, so I try to shake it all out of my mind and focus on what’s ahead. The storage unit. My father’s birth certificate. Funny how every time I try to just relax and get away, I find myself in some other crazy situation.
As we drive toward the storage unit, a strange feeling creeps up my back. I glance in the rearview mirror a few times before Sam looks over at me.
"What's wrong?" he asks.