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Big Jay’s eyes were getting tired as he closed the last file.
Grace stayed focused on the file in front of her. She found a photocopy of a small typed note that was found inside the jean pocket of the young woman who was murdered nearly nine years ago.
“Look at this, Big Jay. It states here under artifacts found with the victim’s clothing were a small typed note and a four-digit telephone number.”
“So the Detectives at the time would have checked for fingerprints and asked around about the telephone number, or maybe looked into it being a date, or even a passcode for something,” Big Jay stated.
“What if they didn’t? You’re assuming they did, but we’re talking over nine years ago and it says here that the woman’s face was covered when they found her. Doesn’t that usually mean the killer can’t face what he’s done and he tries to separate himself from the act?” she asked.
“Honey, have you been watching some detective shows or reading some off-the-wall books?” Duke asked as he tossed a salad.
“She may have a point, Duke. They may have been unable to get a print off of them at the time,” Big Jay said.
“Today, our fingerprint and forensics equipment is even more precise than it used to be. Maybe this half a phone number or code or whatever it is, might lead to something?” She sat forward looking at Big Jay.
“Hey what have we got to lose? I’ll call Jim and see what he can come up with. Let’s put this stuff away for now. Give me that file and I’ll go call him,” Big Jay said.
“You’re doing a good job, sweetie. I’m sure it’s been tough not having your family around,” Duke said as he stood next to her chair.
Grace got up and put her hand on Duke’s arm.
“You’re just like family, and when this is over, you have to come meet my family. I have an aunt that makes her own homemade blackberry preserves. It’s the best,” Grace said and Duke smiled.
Grace began to set the kitchen table for dinner and was thinking about the killer’s letters. She had read a lot of the other files and there were no letters or poems left at the crime scenes. Only the first one contained a note and she wondered if Sandman could get his hands on it.
Maybe there was a connection between the first murder and then Clara’s.
Grace often prayed to her sister for guidance. She still felt such a strong connection to her and now she was feeling that it was her sister pushing her to work this case and find her killer.
All those poor, innocent women killed so brutally. I
t was meaningless, wasteful, unfair but not through the eyes of the killer. To him there was great meaning and purpose behind them. They were somehow all connected and she could see the similarities between the victims. They were beautiful, all brunettes, tall and thin, they had good professions. What was it about Clara and now herself that the killer wanted? Could it be the simple fact that they were sisters, almost twins? They looked so much alike when they were younger it had to be someone they knew from the area.
The killer knows my family.
He was so easily able to track her down at her mom’s house then at her brother John’s. She wondered if he was connected to the police department somehow. Or maybe he had some connections there, people who found out information for him. Maybe there was more than one killer?
“You got awfully quiet. What are you thinking about, darling?” Duke asked as he began to uncork a new bottle of wine as she set the table. She explained her way of thinking and about her connection to her sister.
“It’s not a far-fetched idea. If the killer is someone from your town, a known person who your family is friends with, then surely they would have had access to your whereabouts,” he told her.
“Maybe I’m thinking too much. I should take a break and relax a little. You know, clear my head. Then we can look at the files some more later on.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Duke gave her a kiss on the cheek then offered her a glass of wine.
* * * *
It was 5:20 p.m. and Tod was just pulling into his driveway. He was twenty minutes late getting home to his new bride and he couldn’t wait to see her. The house looked dark as he arrived and he wondered what kind of surprise she had in store for him.
A smile formed on his face as he thought about Jamie, her gorgeous face and fabulous body. Oh, how he loved to make love to her, discover every tiny freckle, every little spot that made her giggle or plead for more of him. She was so wonderful the way she cooked for him and catered to him when he arrived home from work. He couldn’t wait to get inside as he unlocked the front door.
Tod put his keys on the long, narrow wooden table by the front door. Jamie had found the old piece of furniture at a garage sale, refinished it, and turned it into a unique conversation piece. She was so talented and so creative. He loved that about her. The house was far from completely decorated and they both agreed to take their time choosing pieces of furniture, art, and decorations carefully. They wanted their home to be perfect.
Tod headed into the kitchen and was surprised to see grocery bags still filled with food sitting on the kitchen counter and it didn’t look like Jamie had started cooking yet. The large gallon container of milk was sitting on the counter near the kitchen sink and he assumed she forgot to put it in the refrigerator. He lifted the container and headed across the kitchen when suddenly he stopped.
The milk was warm, too warm. His gut was telling him something was up as he tried to remain calm. He instantly took out his revolver, looking around the living room and first floor of the house, and then headed up the stairs.
The first thing he noticed was the warm heat that hit his face and body as he entered the hallway. The air-conditioning wasn’t turned on. It was very warm. His eyes were pulled toward the broken planter that lay scattered across the floor. Did Precious knock it over again? Where was Precious? He wondered as he became more frantic, practically running toward the bedroom.
