Heads Will Roll – Chapter Eleven

NOT EDITED

The entryway had been the true ‘start’ of the chase, but the kitchen had been the second stop. Two of the drawers were open, and the knife block on the counter was tipped over, though none of the knives were missing. “It’s one of those childproof ones,” Rick said quietly after Bo had stared at it a little too long. Careful not to actually touch it, he pointed to the black button on the back of the block. “You have to push that down and in while you pull out one of the knives.”

“I can’t imagine trying to get your mind and hands to work together on that when you have an excessive amount of adrenaline coursing through your body,” Bo said.

“Yeah. Me neither. So she… couldn’t get a knife out of there, so she tried to get one from the drawer.”

“It’s certainly a possibility. It appears to be rummaged through pretty thoroughly.” Bo turned toward the other open drawer, which was a little offkilter, like someone had tried to close it too quickly or at the wrong angle and misaligned the grooves. “This one, though… It’s possible she opened this one to try and slow down her attacker. When it’s open, it leaves a relatively small space between it and the island to try and squeeze through.”

“Jesus. I wish he’d gotten in her damn sleep.” Rick closed his eyes. “That’s… monumentally fucked up. I’m sorry.”

Bo shook his head. “Hoping someone died in their sleep, unaware of the terror or pain? That’s not fucked up. It’s human. Knowing she tried to fight for her life and lost isn’t a good feeling. You’ll receive no blame or judgment from me.”

“Thank you,” Rick whispered.

Bo simply nodded as he photographed the blood next to the sink. Once it was documented, both through photographs and through his little clipboard evidence map, he swiped a test strip through it and plugged it into the device connected to his phone.

“Did you get the results back from the basement at the school?”

“Male.”

“Male,” Rick echoed. “Did you… get a hit on anything?”

“I technically only have access to the LAPD’s system rather than anything past city limits,” Bo said.

“Technically?”

“Well, I…” Bo cleared his throat. “I know my way around a firewall or two.”

Rick snorted. “You’re such a little shit. Did you find your way around a firewall or two?”

“I haven’t yet, but I was planning on it once I was done here,” Bo admitted. “Like everything else, I’ll still have to run the full tests before it’s considered, you know, legal evidence.”

“I kind of get the feeling Jamal knows how to work his way around that too.”

“Sometimes.”

Rick chose to leave it at that for now. “You got a type on this one?”

“O-positive, which is also what I typed Miss Jameson to be at the lake scene.”

“That one at the school. AB-neg. I Googled that. You know it’s rare as shit?”

“Arguably, shit is pretty common, especially in comparison to AB-negative blood type.” Bo smiled faintly. “I know. Unfortunately, unless the school types all of its employees, its rarity is unlikely to help us successfully identify anyone, much as I wish the opposite were true. Sometimes a suspect will willingly give it to you, but around a third of Americans don’t even know their type anyway.”

As much as that was one hell of a downer for the investigation, one corner of Rick’s mouth lifted as Bo snapped a couple pictures of the utensil drawer. “So you’re still full of the absolute randomest facts in existence, huh?”

“Oh, always.”

“Don’t let anyone take that from you. Or your assumptions and possible scenarios. They make you you. And they’re valuable insights. You are valuable insight.”

“I… will do my best.” Bo cleared his throat, a simple signal he wouldn’t be able to accept the compliment. That he wanted to move on. He’d done the very same a million times over in the brief time they’d worked together years before. It was unfortunate that hadn’t changed for him. Even back then, Rick had hoped it would. So much had changed for Rick since he left the LAPD, and seemingly for Bo, so little had. “Do you happen to know what this is?”

“Which ‘this’ are we talking about?”

After a few more pictures of the drawer closest to the island, the one that had appeared untouched, Bo pulled out a small, metal cylinder on a keyring.

“It looks like the key for a gun safe,” Rick said.

“That’s what I thought,” Bo murmured. “She may have opened this drawer to try and get the key initially, but maybe the attacker was too close for her to find it, so she panicked and tried the knife block and then yanked open the utensil drawer instead, searched for… I don’t know. A specific knife? A hidden handgun? Anything that might fit in the drawer, really.”

“Well, I know for sure she has a handgun in the house. When she first got certified and bought one, her sister had told her she was required to report the purchase to the police so we knew she had them. At that time, I think she had a little pistol.”

“We’ll confirm it’s still in the house, just to keep all of our Ts crossed and all of that,” Bo said. He lifted his head as Bridget came back into the kitchen. He raised a brow. “I assumed you had left with Deputy Downs.”

“If you’re on the clock, so am I,” Bridget assured with a soft smile. “He just needed to talk before getting on the road.”

“Thank you for doing that for him, Bridget. I don’t know that I’d’ve had it in me tonight,” Rick said.

“Of course. We’re here to help. That doesn’t always mean just the crime scene stuff.”

“It’s appreciated,” Rick said. He cleared his throat, eyes shifting back to Bo. “So?”

“So on… which aspect of things?” Bo asked.

Rick nodded toward the key in his hand. “The guns. Crossing our Ts and dotting our Is.”

“We’ll make sure they’re here and accounted for. The key being in this drawer insinuates they are, but the wrong insinuation leaves you unaware if your suspect now has their hands on a few handguns.”

After a moment, Rick nodded. He pointed to the blood on the counter. “If this is Carol’s, what do you think…? You don’t think he stabbed her here, right?”

Bo shook his head. “The spatter pattern is more indicative of impact. Like if the killer were to have forcefully pushed her head into the counter.” He cleared his throat, using a finger to trace up from the spot on the counter and up to the small drops of blood in the sink and on a small section of wall above it. “This would be from a second or third impact after the first one or two caused a bleeding wound.”

“So he bashed her head in,” Rick said.

“I think ‘in’ is probably too strong of a word, but yes, they bashed her head into the counter at least a small handful of times. The two likely scenarios in my mind are to either stop her from searching for a knife or to get her to drop one she had managed to grab. Either way, after this, she got away.” Bo pointed to the drops of blood on the floor, the trail leading out of the kitchen and toward a sliding glass door.

“We checked the doors back there. I didn’t… I didn’t see anything,” Rick said.

“Neither did I. There’s like a little patio back there, but I didn’t spot any blood on it,” Bridget said.

“She may have reached the door, she may have even tried to open it, but I highly doubt she successfully made it outside,” Bo said. “The spatter here is very condensed. Uh… small in diameter. The higher blood falls from, the larger the diameter of the drop becomes. The small size here indicates she was likely crawling. The killer would have been much faster than her at that point.”

“Crawling,” Rick echoed, his voice quiet and a bit far away. Even Bo knew he wasn’t looking for further explanation on that one. “I need, uh… out. Out of here. Can you finish taking your pictures after we see where this goes?”

“Yes, but please watch your step.”

“Of course,” Rick whispered.

Bo carefully followed the blood trail to the sliding doors. There was a three-fingered smear of blood on the floor directly in front of it, as well as on the metal framing beneath the handle. She had been pretty damn close to a taste of freedom, though that was all it would have been for her. She hadn’t exactly been pouring blood from a gaping wound, but she had still taken quite a few blows to the head. The likelihood that she would have been able to stand and sprint away was low.

“The trail itself ends here, but the heel of a shoe dragged through one of the drops here,” Bo said, pointing to a spot on the tile, where a drop had been smeared into the grout. “The killer may have grabbed her once she reached the door and dragged her back. With the lack of blood, they might have either pulled her to her feet or dragged her with her head facing up to some degree, and her shirt most likely caught the rest of it. Or even her hair, depending on how it fell when she was… grabbed.”

Bo was rather used to censoring himself in some manner, but it usually revolved around editing certain elaborate words from his statements and observations. Here in Ellepath, his censoring and pausing felt more like an attempt to soften the blow. Unlike in Los Angeles, these officers knew the victims. Closely. Very closely. Rick had grown up in California, but Jeff had been an Ellepath boy from the day he was born. He’d likely had Carol Jameson as a teacher. Rick’s children had probably had her as a teacher. Rick’s son was dating the missing girl, and his daughter was her best friend. He’d likely known her for years. Watched her grow up from a kid swinging on the monkey bars to a young woman preparing to go to college and start her own independent life.

Walking either of them through the crime scene felt like a crime in and of itself.

“Are you certain you want to see it? Where the trail ends, I mean.”

“I need to,” Rick said.

“But do you want to? Are you…?” Bo cleared his throat, gaze shifting over to Bridget, who looked a little less helpless than he felt. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay seeing it?” he asked, eyes slowly drifting back to Rick’s face. “This isn’t like LA, Rick. You know this woman. Seeing what she went through up to this point is enough, don’t you think?”

“Someone has to see it.”

“I’ll see it. Bridget will see it. I-I’ll have Jamal see it, if it makes you feel better. I just don’t know that, in good conscience, I can lead you into that room, because behind that final door? I-I’m pretty sure that’s the end of the trail, Rick. I don’t know that I can make myself do that.”

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Bo, I really do. But you can either open that door, or I’ll damn well open it for you.”

“I’ll do it, B,” Bridget assured, already grabbing a glove from Bo’s camera case. Before Bo could protest further, she opened the door to Carol’s bedroom.

Carol Jameson’s pale, bloodied head sat atop her pillows, staring through the trio with dead eyes.

***

He had planned on keeping the head initially. Leaving it in the basement to taunt Bonnie. But watching Rick hurry out of the house and fall to his knees once he reached his cruiser proved his second plan had been a much, much better one. He could practically hear Rick’s dry heaves from the house. Could imagine the broken sobs while he tried to collect himself and pretend he was still some bigshot LA cop instead of the washed up hasbeen who had run away to a little town in the middle of nowhere to try and avoid pain or punishment. There was absolutely nothing bigshot about the man. Not then, and certainly not now. No, what Rick Downs was was a child killer, and for that, he would finally pay.

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