Sins of the Past – Chapter Eleven
Writer owns no part of Firefly, and intends no infringement. He writes only to torment others. . .wait, that doesn't sound right. . . . .
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Toby Bontrager knew despair.
It was after midnight, Saturday, when his phone had rung. Dreading to answer, he knew he had no choice.
"Toby," Blade's voice came through the ear piece. "I'm sorry to wake you, but we have another body." The former merc's voice was strained. Toby knew that this was eating at all of them.
"Where?" was all he said. He quickly wrote down the place, and was soon dressed and on his way to the scene. He had briefly entertained the idea of calling Mal, but discarded it. Anything that needed doing could be done without his presence. And he needed rest.
When he arrived at the scene some forty five minutes after getting the call, the coroner's van was already there, as was the vehicle assigned to the two Marshals. Toby eased up to the scene, where he could see Reeves and Bonds working over the site.
"Anything?" he asked, knowing the answer.
"Not a single thing," Bonds sounded dejected. He, too, was tired of striking out. "I can't believe that this guy doesn't make at least one mistake every now and then."
"I know," Toby sighed. "We know the victim?"
"I don't," Bonds shrugged. "But I know very few people here. We've already worked the scene, if you want to take a look. Like I said, clean as a pin." He looked at Toby. "I used to think I was pretty good at my job, you know."
"I know," Toby found himself feeling sorry for the young man in a way. A kindred spirit, he supposed. Toby had used to think the same thing, after all. Before this.
"It's not just you, kid," he told the frustrated Marshal as he walked over to where the body lay. "We all used to. . . ." Toby broke off, looking down at the victim.
Her face, like the others, was a mask of terror and pain. Small, fine boned, long brown hair. She was almost identical to the other three. Except for one small difference.
Toby recognized this one.
"Oh my God."
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"Inara, I know he's tired," Toby sighed. "And I didn't call him when the call first came in. But this. . .this is different. I have got to talk to him. Now. Before the lid blows off."
"This had better be important, Toby," Inara threatened.
"You got no idea," Toby nodded. Inara led him into the study, and went upstairs to get Mal. He was down in less than five minutes, looking drowsy still.
"Mal, I'm sorry," Toby said first. Mal held up a hand.
"No need. Just tell me what happened."
"We found another body. Only this time, we know who it is."
"Oh?" Mal's eyebrows rose.
"Charles Whitham's daughter, Denise."
"Whitham. . .Whitham. Why do I know that name?" Mal asked, frowning in concentration.
"He's one o' the richest man in the parish. Is the biggest land owner and rancher. And she was his only child."
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"She. . .she was supposed to be in Mount Talmidge!" Charles Whitham almost shouted. He and his wife were still in their night clothes, having been awakened by Mal and Toby with the bad news of what they had found.
"When did she leave, Mr. Whitham?" Toby asked gently. "If we can trace her route, we may can find a clue to what. . .how it happened."
"She left on Tuesday," Emalee Whitham almost whispered. She was nearly in shock from the looks of her. Her husband wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "She was planning to stay until the end of next week there, visiting friends and shopping. She was going off world to school in the fall." She looked at Mal. "Your fiancee was going to be instructing her before hand." Mal felt his eyes water slightly at the woman's pain.
"I. . .I'm so sorry, ma'am," he told her.
"Can you provide us with a list of names of the friends she was going to see?" Toby asked, trying to stay on track. He didn't think either one was going to last much longer, and they needed information.
"You suspect her friends?" Charles Whitham's face went beet red.
"Not at all," Toby replied calmly. "But we need to check with them, to see who saw her last, or heard from her last. We use that to try and determine where, and when, her attacker managed to take her. Then we use
that information to try and get a description of the man."
"Once we have that," Mal added, "then we find him, and we stop him. We punish him for what he did."
"You've done so well at that so far!" Whitham snarled. Emalee placed a hand on his.
"Charles, it isn't their fault. She wasn't attacked here, was she?" this was for Toby.
"It's unlikely ma'am," Toby admitted. "If she left Tuesday, and she made contact with any of her friends in Mount Talmidge, then we'll know she made it that far. Which will mean. . . ."
"We know she made it," Charles offered, realizing the truth of what his wife was saying. "She called us when she arrived. To let us know she made it s. . .safe." He almost strangled on the word.
"Do you know where she was staying?" Toby asked.
"She had taken a room at a motel there," Emalee replied, rising from her seat. She walked to a desk, and wrote on a notepad. Tearing off the sheet, she brought it to the investigator.
"This is her phone number there, and the name of the motel. It's one of the nicest places in the city," she added absently. Toby accepted the page without comment.
"If you can get us the names of the people she planned to visit, we can turn all this over to the two Marshals who are assisting us here, and let them get started on this." The next few minutes resulted in the list, but precious little else. It was still more than they had had.
Finally, Mal and Toby rose to leave. As they reached the door, Whitham took Mal's shoulder.
"I know this isn't your fault, Sheriff," he said quietly. "But I want this man found. I'd like him dead, but I can't ask that of you. What I really want is for him to hurt, just like my little girl did."
"I want that too, sir," Mal surprised the man. "I got family. I know what it is to lose them. And, between us, should the chance arise, I'll make sure it happens." Whitham searched Mal's eyes for a moment, then nodded, apparently satisfied with what he saw there.
"I think you will," was all he said, and closed the door.
"You hadn't ought to promise that, Mal," Toby suggested as they walked to the car.
"Why not?" Mal challenged. "It's the truth."
"Might get you in trouble," Toby warned.
"Couldn't care less at the moment."
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"We'll be on our way in an hour," Bonds told Mal, taking the information the two men provided. "I've already called the office, and they have men on the way to the motel, to secure the room. And a BOLO has been issued for the car." He was quiet for a minute.
"I know this is bad, for you and your town. But this may just let us find this son of a. . .this man. I know it's not much, but I hope it helps."
"You find him, and then we'll see," Mal nodded. "Good luck."
Mal and Toby watched the two of them leave, then walked into the office. Mal let out a long sigh.
"I hope they nail the bastard."
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He didn't panic. He was too controlled for that. But he did berate himself.
Stupid, stupid, STUPID! his mind screamed, belying his calm outward appearance. I should have checked her more thoroughly. I should have known where she was from. I could have waited, left her for last, when I was leaving. Next to last, he amended. He would leave the perfect canvas until last. The one that looked so much like her.
What to do now? Should he leave? How much information could they gather from her? Who might have seen him with her? Might identify him? Point him out if he was taken into custody?
There was no physical evidence. His field work was perfect, he knew. Long practice gave him that confidence. But a witness, that was more damning than any physical evidence. And how could he explain being there, in Mount Talmidge? Especially when it was discovered that he was living in the same area where all the victims had turned up? And where the latest victim had hailed from?
He sat back, and closed his eyes. Sifting through his memory of the night he had taken the canvas, he looked for anything that might come back on him. He had a perfect memory. Picture perfect. He could recall anything he had ever seen, with a little meditation.
Yes, people had seen him with her. At a club. But she had been with others at that same club. And so had he. Odds were that no one would remember him. She had blown him off. Like they always did. Like she had, so long ago. Ridiculed him for even having the nerve to talk to her.
He felt the familiar rush of anger at that. She had talked down to him, made him feel small. He grinned ferally as he recalled her suffering. His first 'love'. His first work of art.
He had been clumsy then. Angry. Working in a state of fury. He was better than that now. Wiser. Stronger. More experienced. He opened his eyes, finally, satisfied. Yes, he had made an error. A stupid one, at that. He would punish himself for that, later.
But he could find no reason to think that the canvas would lead the police to him in any way. He was safe.
He could continue his work for a while longer.
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"I didn't expect you back," Inara said as Mal walked into the house.
"No reason for me to stay any longer," Mal shrugged. "The Marshal's are workin' the case in Mount Talmidge. Outta our baliwick. The girl's from here, and her body left here to be found, but the actual crime was probably committed elsewhere. We know she was took elsewhere. Nothin' for us to do at the moment."
"I'm sorry," Inara said softly.
"Me too," Mal sighed, taking his boots off. Inara had a rack near the door, and he set the boots there. "Hated tellin' the family. Got a little intense at first." He looked at Inara then.
"The girl was gonna be one o' your students, bao bei," he informed her softly. Inara gasped at that, her hand rising to her mouth.
"Who was she?" Inara asked, almost against her will.
"Girl name o' Denise Whitham."
"Oh, no!" Inara wailed softly. "Oh, Mal! She was an adorable child! So very smart and talented."
"I'm sorry, Inara," Mal took her into his arms, and Inara sobbed briefly, before managing to gain control of herself again. She wiped her eyes.
"Well, let's get you some breakfast, shall we?" she tried to smile.
"Not hungry at the moment," Mal admitted. "Are you?
"Not so much, now," she admitted.
"Let's us go lie down a while, then," Mal suggested. "I admit I'm tired. I might manage to go back to sleep."
The two of them went upstairs in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.
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"Another one," River sighed, shaking her head.
"Not just another one, 'ccordin' to what everbody's sayin'," Kaylee mourned. "This one was a local. Well known, too." The two were sitting in the cargo bay of Companion, Kaylee having walked down to visit with her sister-in-law, and share the news. Neither missed the fact that Jayne was hovering nearby, just out of ear shot, outside the open bay door. It was a sign of the times, anymore.
"I hope this is the last one," River said softly. "I don't know how much more people can accept."
"Everbody's so scared, River," Kaylee replied. "And they was already afraid, even when the bodies turnin' up wasn't nobody they knowed. Now it's like. . .ten times worse."
"Yes," River nodded. "Fear is apparently the killer's objective. He is hiding among us, I think, watching the reaction to what he does. I wonder," she mused, "does he gain more satisfaction from the act itself, or the resulting fear and uncertainty the act causes."
"You're scarin' me, River," Kaylee frowned in concern. "You ain't talked like that in a long time."
"Like what?" River looked at her, puzzled.
"Like in the old days," Kaylee replied. "Like you did before. . .before."
"Before Miranda? Of before Jayne?" River asked, genuinely interested in Kaylee's answer.
"Jayne, I guess," Kaylee shrugged. "I mean, you was near bibbledy 'fore Miranda. You don't sound like that. You just sound more like you did 'fore you and Jayne, I reckon. Like a machine, or somethin'."
"Possible," River nodded. "I admit, in recent months I have been more at ease. So much has happened in such a short time, I am sometimes amazed it has not overwhelmed me entirely. There was a time, even after Miranda, when I'm sure it would have. The only thing I can conceive of is that the stable life we have here has given me a more reliable emotional foundation, which has, in turn, allowed me to progress in a manner I would never have achieved were we still aboard ship."
"You're doin' it again," Kaylee didn't quite whine. "Talkin' like some cortex docu-vid than like a person." River smiled.
"I'm sorry," she apologized. "Sometimes I do rattle on. More so when I'm nervous."
"What you nervous 'bout?" Kaylee asked, looking concerned.
"I'm concerned about many things," River shrugged. "Captain Daddy faces a terrible problem, one that may yet set the populace against him, despite his accomplishments to date in office. Jayne and Goldie are both very. . .focused on this problem, with fear for all of us. The women in our little family."
"Inara has lost a student. Captain Daddy's 'relationship' with Inara has been called into question, again, despite the fact that they would have already been married if not for the injuries he suffered in breaking the Nine. So soon they forget," River ended in a murmur, looking outside, at the sky.
"River," Kaylee said slowly. "Are you okay?" River looked back to her friend.
"Are any of us?"
"Well, I reckon I am," Kaylee shrugged. "I mean, I'm worried just like everbody else is. But I can't do nothin' 'bout what's happenin', so all I can do is hope Cap'n can sort it out. Him an' the others. And I gotta think about my baby, too," she added, rubbing her still flat tummy.
"True," River mused. "You cannot act in this. There are few who can, I suspect. The killer is taking his victims in an unknown fashion. So far at unknown times and places, though that may change with the latest victim being known. None of the others have even been identified. At least not that we've heard. But the idea that anyone could be the next victim, at any time, is enough to terrify most of the populace. And I believe that is the true intent of the killer, in the long run." She looked at Kaylee again.
"True, he no doubt receives some satisfaction in the act of tormenting his victims. Else why do it? It is likely that he is re-living some past event, perhaps striking out at perceived past wrongs through surrogates. His victims represent the person who wronged him, most likely a spurned love, unrequited, and likely with no small amount of derision or humiliation."
"He is seeking revenge for past wrongs by taking victims that closely resemble his original tormentor. At the same time," she continued, "he is reveling in the fact that he, someone that no one notices, is the cause of so much fear and apprehension. Everyone on edge around him, while he enjoys knowing that he is the source of their fear."
"Wow," Kaylee said, as River went silent. "You just came up with all that sittin' here, lookin' at the sky?" River shrugged.
"Work has been a little slow." Both women laughed at that. Kaylee especially needed it, after River's little display.
"So you gonna tell the Cap'n 'bout all this?" she asked.
"Yes," River nodded. "Perhaps it will help, perhaps not. But it is something that merits closer investigation. It may not help catch him, but it can at least point to a motive. Anything is more than nothing. Which is all they have at the moment."
"That an' four dead girls," Kaylee sighed.
"That we know of," River agreed. "I fear there may be others, still undiscovered. And I fear there will be many more, if no one can catch him."
"Oh, River, don't even think it!" Kaylee almost wailed. "Somethin's gotta happen, so's they can catch him!"
"It doesn't have to," River shook her head. "Most serial killers leave clues to point the way to themselves. Most of them actually want to be caught. This one, however, is different. He is careful, meticulous even. In every detail. I suspect that he has done this in many places before. He has learned his craft well."
"You make is sound like a job," Kaylee looked disgusted.
"He may see it as his 'work' yes," River nodded. "Might even refer to what he does in such a way. Because we can't see it, Kaylee, does not mean that he can't. To put it better, while we can see his insanity, he is perhaps unaware of it. When I was at my worst, when none of you could understand me, everything I did or said sounded completely correct in my mind. To me I was speaking and communicating clearly."
"But all you heard was gibberish. Words substituted, parallels, even parable's. It was extremely frustrating for me, knowing that I knew exactly what I wanted to say, and how I wanted it said, and yet I could not transfer my thoughts into speech in such a way as to be understood."
"You can't imagine how frustrating that is," she finished. Kaylee looked sad.
"'m sorry, River," she told her sister-in-law. "I wish I coulda been more help to ya back then." River smiled brightly.
"Oh, but you were! You were my friend, even when I scared you! Never thought so badly of me, no matter what I did. In fact," she smiled, "I think the only time you were really angry with me was when I slashed Jayne." Kaylee laughed at that.
"Well, maybe I was," she allowed.
"That's all right," River laughed. "I think we can lay that aside. Since I got him in the end," she wiggled her eyebrows conspiratorially. Kaylee almost shrieked in laughter at that one, holding her sides.
"So you was flirtin'?" she asked between 'bouts of laughter.
"He understands violence better than anyone," River grinned. "Or anything for that matter."
"Hey, ain't it about lunch time?" Jayne chose that moment to saunter over.
"Except food, of course," River added drily.
Jayne wondered what was so damn funny, as Kaylee fly into another fit of howling laughter. His wife just smiled at him, rising to fix lunch for them all.