Deadly Anniversary

157 Pages·2016·0.42 MB·English

by  Drake Caron

<code> Prologue

January, 1993

</code>
<code> -- Horace, Epistles

</code>
<code> When Marsha entered the motel room, she was excited about their night
together. They kissed, and he asked her to put on the special nightie. She
changed and he started the stereo. As they lay in bed kissing and caressing, he
realized he couldn't perform and rage surged through his body spreading like a
fever through his mind. Realizing that his ego was as sensitive as a stick of
dynamite, she tried to convince him that it was okay because he was still just a
boy. Her platitude angered him even more, sucking the breath from his lungs,
and bleeding all reason from his brain. Through the haze of his fury, he grabbed
his hunting knife that was attached to his discarded belt and stabbed her again
and again and again...
</code>
<code> 1

May 14, years later
</code>
<code> The dark, unsightly stains that had soaked the negligee's lacy, tattered
frills marred the erotic picture. The fact that her mutilated body was in a filthy
alley behind an Arlington bookstore, seemed to be just another desecration of
her succinct life. The stench of blood and death were a strong reminder to all
present, that the young lady's death had been extremely violent.

Cheri Brannon had to fight an involuntary gag, even though she had been a
witness to countless abhorrent murder scenes. She quickly collected herself and
tried to look and feel professional. At the ripe age of thirty-three, she shouldn't
have to worry about what people thought, but she did.

Crowded and extremely active, the scene breathed a life of its own. The
medical examiner's crew collected specimens from the victim and her
surroundings. Police photographers snapped pictures of tire tracks, possible
footprints, piles of refuse, and any other infinitesimal item that might possibly
hold value in the investigation. Additional police officers held the press and
other early-rising curiosity seekers back from the scene.

There were no signs of struggle anywhere near the body's vicinity, so Cheri
assumed that the murder had occurred at a different locale and that the body had
been arranged here for their benefit. She noted that the victim was Caucasian,
about 120 to 130 pounds, and approximately five feet and five inches tall. The
victim's athletic physique had probably been well endowed; it was difficult to
discern what she used to look like since most of her upper torso lay saturated in
blood. Her face was surprisingly unblemished, considering the amount of blood
that shrouded the rest of her body. From past experience with medical examiners
and violent murders, Cheri estimated that the murder had occurred late last night
or early this morning -- although it was just a guess, since many factors could
affect the postmortem changes. She could see no sign of needle tracks on the
victim's arms and there was no stench of alcohol. Although drugs, alcohol, and
anger may have played a part in the murder, this was a premeditated murder, not
a crime of quick passion or theft. Since she had been asked to investigate, she
already knew it was a ritualistic murder -- a horrible tragedy.

The alley was normally inhabited by a myriad of insects, rodents, and
probably a cat or two, yet the smell of decomposing food, wet boxes, and dead
animals could not completely obliterate the olfaction of the woman's violent
death.

Although Cheri had only been at the early morning scene for a few minutes,
the humidity made her casual attire stick to her like a second skin. Her stylishly
short, auburn hair was also plastered to her head. Her average height and size
made hunting through the herd of uniforms and suits difficult.

Trevor Wesley, her fellow task force member, was supposed to be here. She
finally spotted him and began treading her way in his direction. As usual, he
looked painstakingly scrupulous in his black summer suit, white shirt, and ebony
tie. His tawny hair was military short and neat. He had already begun to assess
the situation.

"The pattern fits two other murders that have occurred recently in the Dallas-
Fort Worth Metroplex. We have been asked to take over the cases," Wesley
explained, straightening his designer tie. He wasted no time on pleasantries
when it came to business.

"What do you know about the previous murders?"

"The UNSUB, unknown subject, dressed each of them in pink and black
negligees and left them sitting like this one. Each murder has been in a different
jurisdiction. I did notice that the examiner's staff had extracted something from
the victim's hand. There apparently has been no correspondence from the
UNSUB left at this scene or any of the other murder scenes. That is the only
information a police officer gave me when I arrived at the scene. No one has
officially briefed me yet."

Although they were technically an autonomous task force, they always
accepted assignments if the murders were labeled as serial killings. Each of these
murders had been in separate jurisdictions, making the investigations more
difficult to coordinate. The Metroplex law enforcement agencies shared a crime
database; however, there was still the problem of coordinating the actual
investigations. This task force had no jurisdictional boundaries: Trevor Wesley
was an FBI forensic specialist; Cheri Brannon, Ph.D., was on the payroll as a
criminal psychologist of Fort Worth's special forces unit and was the profiler for
the team; and their other team member, apparently still absent from the scene,
was aligned with the Department of Public Safety and handled most of the leg
work. The task force investigated, profiled, and tried to locate the murderers;
they did not arrest them.

The Attorney General and the Governor of Texas were the offices to which the
task force was directly responsible. Although it had only been in existence for
about eighteen months, its members had already helped to capture quite a few
murderers, including three serial killers in Texas. They had access to resources
that regular city police did not have, and they were experts in the area of sadistic
murders.

A tall, sandy-headed cowboy wandered over in their general direction; the
path cleared ahead of him like the Red Sea for Moses. "Brannon, what brings us
out so early?"

They quickly explained what they knew to Tanner Paine, their tardy
teammate. Like Cheri, he was not dressed for an official occasion. He was
wearing his usual redneck outfit of jeans and a white western-cut shirt. He had
not shaved and his clothes were wrinkled. Out of the blue, he asked, "You know
what nihilism is?" He hoped to stump Cheri and Wesley.

Wesley quickly answered, "It is the belief that there is no meaning or purpose
in existence."

Paine was not thrilled.

A plain-clothes detective came over and interrupted their game of vocabulary
challenges. Wiping his forehead with a handkerchief, he stated, "The captain told
me to call y'all in for this one. This is the third case like this in three months. The
perp leaves us a pretty lady with only a small amount of her chest intact. Roses
seem to be his favorite flower because he always leaves her holding some petals.
He seems to really like pink and black nighties, too. He leaves us a young lady
about this time of the month -- ya know, like around the 14th or 15th. Down at
HQ, we call him the 'Deadly Don Juan' because he's a obvious womanizer."

Cheri looked around at the crowd and quietly interrupted, "Detective, I need a
video of all bystanders. I need it done quietly and quickly, before the crowd
starts to thin. Usually, the perp will hang around to watch the police investigate
his handiwork. Make sure you get everybody, including the press."

The detective called a uniformed officer over who immediately went to do
Cheri's bidding. He borrowed a video camera from a police officer who was
photographing the gory scene for the pathologist, and then he began
systematically and unobtrusively to videotape the growing crowd.
"I guess the press hasn't made a connection between the murders, or we would
have had a lot more news coverage." As he spoke, Paine wiped his high forehead
with his hand, trying vainly to stop the downward flow of perspiration into his
eyes.

Ignoring Paine, Wesley asked the detective one last question, "Can you tell me
what other kinds of evidence the perpetrator left at the various scenes? Fibers,
defense wounds, sperm?"

Cheri tuned out the detective's answer, knowing that she would soon be up to
her ears in evidence. Looking over the crowd, she knew one of the innocent,
normal, clean-cut men might be their perp. She began assessing each of the
potential suspects. They would be Caucasian males between the ages of 20 and
35. In her search, she noticed a growing frenzy in the mob of spectators. "I think
the press just figured out the connection -- they must have noticed the signature
nightie."

Already the pressure to catch the guy was hitting Cheri full force. She had no
doubt that the news people would notice the task force at the scene. Everyone
around would know, in a few short hours, that a serial killer was stalking victims
in this area again. The last serial killer had killed six kids before he was caught.

The police quickly started pushing them back, as the photographers for the
papers and camera personnel for the news stations, fought to get a closer shot of
the victim.

The investigators quickly wrapped up their investigation of the area around
the victim, covered her, and put her in a waiting body wagon.
Cheri watched as Paine began to interview the almost incoherent man who
had found the victim while he had been looking for treasures in the dumpsters.
She just hoped that he had not messed with the body or the encompassing area.
He did not look or sound like a potential suspect, due to his lack of intelligence
and lack of ability to function in society. Most known, organized serial killers
were of average or above-average intelligence, and they were considered normal
people, who seemed to function reasonably well in society. The man who found
the victim's body seemed to live in a different world from theirs -- Cheri hoped it
was more pleasant. Serial murderers usually maintained careers, or at least
respectable jobs. Very rarely would a serial killer, as methodical as this one, be
lacking intelligence and rational thinking skills. In other words, he would be
counted as sane -- not schizophrenic.

At night, the dumpster would have been distant from traffic; however, as soon
as businesses in the neighborhood opened, the body would definitely have been
found. The perp may have been late for his own show, if he had planned on the
body being found later. Most perps enjoyed the show caused by their handiwork.
Hopefully, they would catch his face on videotape. Cheri would also need to ask
the detective to have an unmarked vehicle close, in order to keep the area under
surveillance.

Paine finished with the witness and began interviewing the first police officers
on the scene. Wesley was questioning the medical examiner's staff. Cheri stood
rooted to the spot and tried to understand why a man would want to completely
obliterate a pretty lady's chest with such violence and anger. It had to be a man
because the act of violence was so severe and sexual in nature that very few
women would profile correctly. Also, there were very few serial killers who
were women, unless of course, a person counted the misguided and totally evil
women who killed their own children or other loved ones for sympathy or
insurance.

There were never clear-cut reasons as to why the murderers felt compelled to
stalk, maim, and traumatize their victims. There were only excuses that society
would hand them to help them feel blameless for their hideous actions. Everyone
was a victim. If they were abused or neglected as children, they had an automatic
excuse for abusing other innocent people. The best reason Cheri had ever heard
was that some serial murderers wanted power and others wanted pleasure -- they
received both of these from their evil and vile games.

Life did not usually make sense and it definitely wasn't fair. Cheri hated the
injustices of reality. She decided that nihilism might be the one belief that
expressed real truth.

</code>
<code> The excitement of the scene was getting to him; he enjoyed the sounds
of frantic investigations. Getting physically excited, he watched the ones who
were new to the scene; he needed to find out who they were -- there might be
some danger or some extra stimulation.
</code>
<code> 2

</code>
<code> She pulled into their double driveway next to Tony's spotless black
Nissan pick-up. Their house was a two-story, pseudo-rustic wood cabin. It had
all of the amenities, but resembled something that would be found in the middle
of a forest. Cheri and Tony liked space and simplicity, and their house gave them
both. They tried to pretend they were in a hideaway when they sequestered
themselves. Their personal life was quiet, subdued.
Cheri hated to leave her air-conditioned Pathfinder, but she climbed down and
made a mental note to have her silver vehicle washed soon. It was a little after
nine and she was free until her testimony was needed in the District Court at one
p.m., so she decided to stop and visit with Tony before taking her shower. She
snuck quietly up the solid wood stairs to Tony's at-home office where she
operated her computer business. Her office was actually two medium-sized
bedrooms where a wall had been removed in order to accommodate all of her
sophisticated toys.

Tony was peering at a computer screen and typing out some kind of code -- or
at least it looked like code to Cheri. Cheri's arms slinked around her lover's neck,
and she nibbled on Tony's ear before Tony ever bothered to look up.

"I give up, who is it?"

Cheri hit Tony's arm as she playfully flinched. "What do you mean, who is it?
How many women nuzzle your neck while I'm at work?"

"Not too many. Also, each of your perfume types are very distinct. Yours
smells more like sweat today. Did you forget to put on your Passion Blood this
morning?" She was grinning wickedly.

Cheri sat down on Tony's lap and smiled suggestively. "I was in a big hurry
this morning, but I am off until after lunch."

The look on Cheri's face betrayed her because Tony gently brushed her bangs
out of her face and gave her full attention. "Was it as bad as you look?"

"It was definitely messy. We have been asked to officially assume the
investigations in all three related murders." Cheri absently pushed her auburn
bangs out of her own face and her nondescript glasses farther up her nose. "I
don't like the feel of this. He must be real sick. What are you up to on your
magical machine?"

"Smooth change of subject. I am trying to debug a system for the Doctor's For
Care Company; they picked up a nasty bug on the Internet last week. It has
messed up their patient databases horribly."

Cheri moved her backside over to a box of computer paper, as Tony turned
back to her computer and began typing away with the hunt-and-peck method.

Tony's short, dark hair had a striking and extremely sexy silver streak that
started above her right eyebrow and continued all the way to the nape of her
neck. Her hair reminded Cheri of a skunk; although, she was careful to never
actually tell Tony that. Tony was only about a half an inch taller than Cheri's five
and a half feet, but she had a more muscular physique. They made an attractive
couple.

Tony could focus so well on any task, or on any person, at any given time that
she would not even notice what else was going on in the room. It was a true
mark of a genius and a needed survival skill for someone who had to concentrate
in their rambunctious house. Their cat, dog, and ferret loved to play all over the
house and were always destroying or knocking over something. Sometimes,
Tony's total concentration was an annoying ability because she tuned Cheri out,
as well as everything else; however, Cheri had learned to accept that as just
being Tony -- she was not intentionally rude.