Daddy's Little Killer

Chapter 35

Chapter 35

 

Before Forsythe put the box of evidence back on the shelf, I slipped Gwen Foster's access card to Datello's office building into my palm. He didn't notice. Since dawn was too light for an unnoticed visit to Datello's office, I told Ken that I'd be back later to pick up the keys and went shopping at a 24-hour Walmart.

My wardrobe was still a problem. Even though I now had all of my clothes back in my possession, a rainbow of pastels is hardly appropriate for a stealth visit to essentially break into a building without a warrant. Besides, I missed black and gray. A discount store was good enough for the basics.

Darkwater proper offered a variety of cheap motels along the main drag through the city. Rather than go to my house where no doubt Charlie and others would look for me, I checked into a place that offered me hourly or weekly rates. Lovely.

The shag carpeting was frayed and worn, and probably once a vibrant shade of late 1960s orange. Now it was muted by decades of filth and stain. The table and chair were the necessary items in the room, and Wi-Fi. 

I started going over the records I uncovered, remembering my theory that my perp's psychopathy and its steadfast adherence to one ritual indicated that he might be reliving his first kill. Carrie's assault was only seven years ago. The tale she told didn't include any distinguishing features that pointed to my suspect being completely elderly. He couldn't have been very old at the time of his first kill.

Considering the initial age range I gave Hardy and Weber on Wednesday, I did a mental calculation. It was conceivable that the perp had been within the typical age range for serial crimes when the first was committed. I needed to figure out who that first victim could've been.

My list of missing girls was extensive, and stretched back thirty years. "Fifty now would make him twenty at the time of the first missing girl."

I started sifting through the list of names carefully this time. I divided it into cases where photos of the missing girls had been included in the files and those without. The older cases were problematic. Many were missing the pictures. I made marks on the pages with twenty-five to thirty year dates to color code those with photos and those without.

On the bottom of page two, I found several marked "resolved". Further digging revealed that either the girls returned home or the families had waited the allotted time required by law to have their children declared legally dead. A new color for my sorting system entered the scheme.

By the time I reached the last page of the oldest missing person's cases on record, my vision was starting to blur. I glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand by the bed. Five twenty. I'd been at this for far too long. My stomach rumbled.

"Patience. I'll grab a bite before I stake out Datello's office."

I had made a couple of trips to the outdoor vending machines throughout the day for caffeine-namely Coke Zero. Even though my room had a small coffee maker, the disposable cups weren't wrapped in plastic. God only knew how many times they'd been reused.

The last can of soda had half a swallow of tepid, flat syrup in it. I downed it and rubbed my eyes. A name half way down the last page of my list jumped out when I refocused on the screen.

Gwen Bennett.

"What the hell?" I checked the date. Thirty-two years ago. Had Gwen Foster been abducted as a toddler too? It didn't fit the... date of birth leapt off the screen. "Oh my God. Case resolved." 

I started searching the Social Security Death Index. There she was. Gwen Bennett, declared dead seven years after disappearing. I pulled up the case.