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“That’s it,” Missy said, squatting down next to it. “Tiny little guy, isn’t it?”
Faith agreed. It wasn’t an electronic bell either. Just a small brass bell with a tiny little clapper. It probably sounded like those bells they give mall Santas. Even at night, and even with a security guard with excellent hearing, he would have to be right up close to the bell to know it was being rung.
Their killer definitely intended to torture his victims rather than give them an honest chance.
“So he was messing with them,” Michael said, echoing her thoughts.
“That’s what we think,” Missy replied.
“Any footprints?” Faith replied. “Tire tracks?”
Missy shook her head. “The killer did an excellent job cleaning up after himself. We didn’t find anything but signs that he’d covered his tracks.”
“No vehicle noise?” Michael asked. “There’s no way one person dug a grave and buried a victim in one night.”
“Could there be multiple killers?” Faith asked.
“It’s possible,” Missy said. “It’s also possible there’s only one killer with an electric vehicle.”
“An electric backhoe?” Faith asked.
“Sure,” Missy said. “A lot of places are using them now. You don’t want to hear diesel engines interrupt your loved one’s funeral.”
Faith wasn’t sure if engine noise was really a concern for a grieving family, but it didn’t matter. “Any vehicles found the next morning with low charge? Maybe dirt on them?”
“They’re washed weekly, so the fact that one of them might have dirt doesn’t mean that it was used. As far as charge goes, their shed’s equipped with three hundred fifty kilowatt-hour ultrafast chargers. You could charge something from dead to full in less than an hour.”
“Got it,” Faith said. “Anything else to note about the scene?”
“Actually, yes,” Missy said. “We found a recording device.”
Faith’s ears perked up. “The killer?”
“Yep. It’s at the station. You guys want a ride or do you want to follow me?”
They elected to follow. The station was bustling the way all big city police stations were, but it wasn’t unusually hectic. The cemetery was in a nice neighborhood and other than the occasional property crime, there was little business of note.
And, of course, the man who was buried alive.
Missy led them to her desk and offered them coffee, which they accepted. While she went to retrieve the evidence, Faith turned to Michael. “First impressions?”
“Of Missy or the case?”
“The case,” she replied, “but nice to know where your mind is.”
Michael rolled his eyes and said, “Whatever it is, it’s personal or this guy is very crazy. We either have a Demon or we have a revenge killer.”
“Why not both?” Faith asked.
Michael shrugged. “That’s a possibility too.”
Missy returned with a small digital recorder, which she set down on the desk. “Take a listen,” she said.
She pressed play and a tinny voice said, “Good evening. By now you’ve figured out you’re in a coffin.”
They listened to the message, and when it was over, Missy stopped the recording. “It plays on an endless loop. Doesn’t stop until the battery runs out.”
“So we know our killer wasn’t at the scene for the whole length of time it took them to die,” Faith said.
