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The culvert in question was tucked behind a strip mall on the outskirts of Oakhurst, next to a claustrophobic road cloaked in darkness. Jo and Arnett screeched to a stop, adding their headlights to the illumination of the squad car waiting there; Janet Marzillo and her team followed closely behind. Two officers stood by the side of the road with a medium-height, thirty-something black man huddled against the cold in a thin silver blanket, while the perimeter of crime-scene tape was monitored by a burly, dark-haired white man Jo quickly identified as Officer Stanton.
“What do we know so far?” Jo asked.
Stanton jutted his chin toward the man with the other officers. “Wesley Williams came looking for his girlfriend, Helen Jackson. Every Wednesday after her prenatal exercise class she picks up food from Panda Express on her way home.”
Jo exchanged a look with Arnett at the mention of a prenatal class.
“After class she texted to say she was on the way to get the food,” Stanton continued, “but never made it home. After an hour and a half, when she didn’t pick up his call or answer his texts, he came looking for her, worried that she’d gone into premature labor or had some sort of emergency. He found her car in the lot, but she wasn’t in the restaurant or any of the other stores, so he searched the area. He found these clothes, along with her purse and phone, and immediately called us.” Stanton pointed to a pile of objects. “He continued to search while he was on the phone with us, and discovered her at the bottom of the dip, near the culvert.”
“Damn.” Jo’s throat tightened. The only thing possibly worse than losing the woman you loved and your unborn child was finding their bodies yourself. “We’d better go have a look.”
Stanton pointed down. “That way, just out of sight. You’ll see my partner as soon as you start down.”
Joined by Marzillo and Peterson, Jo and Arnett hurried into protective gear, then headed down the bank of the small man-made ravine. Where it ended at a large drainage pipe, another officer guarded a large swath of cement adjoining the slowly flowing water.
Behind him, a petite, light-skinned black woman lay naked, her tight, black curls swept upward, away from her head, her arms crossed over her chest. Her throat had been savagely slashed, and a familiar knife protruded from her belly. As before, the Sigil of Lucifer was painted on her body in what looked like her own blood.
Rage and frustration erupted in Jo’s chest, threatening to derail her. She took a series of deep breaths, struggling to keep herself calm and cool enough to evaluate the scene effectively.
“This location is mere feet away from a shopping area,” she said when she’d pushed the emotion down. “Out of sight, yes, but very different from the kills set deep into the woods. Why?”
Arnett instantly met her train of thought. “Maybe he had to. We’ve warned pregnant women there’s a killer on the loose, particularly in wooded parks.”
Jo squinted toward the top of the culvert. “Why not just wait? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a serial killer who appears suddenly and kills three victims in one week.”
Arnett rubbed his chin with his wrist. “Maybe they were killing somewhere else and relocated.”
“We’d know if other pregnant women were being killed like this, wouldn’t we?” Peterson asked. “Someone would have contacted us.”
“He might have changed his MO to help cover his tracks, but I tend to agree—we’d have found any pregnant women showing up dead with any methodology as soon as we started checking,” Jo said.
“Ted Bundy went on a killing rampage after escaping prison for the second time,” Marzillo said. “Maybe it’s someone who escalated while being locked up.”
“It’s possible,” Jo said. “But if you know the police are actively searching for you, wouldn’t you be more careful, not less? Go deeper into the woods rather than risk being seen by anyone who walks up to the edge? And what about the clothes?” She pointed up to the edge. “Why leave them up there where someone’s almost guaranteed to stumble on them? Why not put them down near the body?”
“This late at night, back behind the buildings, I’m not sure how many people would stumble on them,” Arnett said. “But your point is well taken. There must be a reason why our killer chose to do it that way. What are you thinking?”
Jo raked her lower lip with her teeth. “I’m not sure. But I also think what we’re not seeing here is just as important as what we are. No impromptu altars. No candles—”
“And there’s been a blow to the head.” Marzillo pointed to an area of Helen’s hairline, just above her ear. “See the swelling? And if you look closely, here, there’s a scrape that mimics the shape of the swelling.”
“So she was hit with some sort of object?” Jo asked.
“That would be my guess. It’s possible she could have sustained an injury in that location from falling, but it would have been an extremely awkward fall,” Marzillo answered.
“Our theory before was the women were subdued somehow, either with some sort of drug or at gunpoint,” Jo said. “So maybe Helen had heard about the murdered pregnant women and decided to fight back?”
“Why not fight back right away, then?” Arnett pointed up. “In front of the restaurant where people might be able to help?”
“Could be she didn’t realize what was happening. If what you’ve heard is women are getting murdered in the woods and someone pulls a gun on you in a parking lot, you’d think you’re just getting robbed,” Peterson said.
“But then he pulls her down here, and she realizes it’s going to be more than that, so she fights,” Jo said. “Could that contusion be from the butt of a gun?”
Marzillo peered back down at Helen’s head. “It’s consistent with that possibility.”
“What about the baby figurine? Is she holding one?” Jo asked.
