“You Brantley Walker?”
“I am,” Brantley confirmed. “And you are?”
“John Collins,” he said, offering a hand. “Right this way.
Brantley wasn’t sure what to make of the man, but he decided to give Detective Collins the benefit of the doubt. They followed him to his desk where he dropped down into his chair and began rummaging through folders, stopping when he found one with Henderson scribbled on the front.
“Mind if I take a look at that?” Brantley asked, nodding at the case file. “Do you think these women are targeted specifically?”
He passed it over but didn’t look Brantley in the eyes.
“We’ve found no link between them,” the man said, leaning back in his chair. “They live in neighborhoods that border the lake but not the same neighborhood. We don’t have much on Jody yet, but as far as the other three go, I haven’t even been able to put them at so much as the same coffee shop.”
While he spoke, Brantley assessed him. Figured Collins for somewhere in his mid- to late-forties. Dark hair, receding hairline, dark eyes that showed a good many lines, a few days’ worth of stubble on his jaw, unkempt to say the least. It was possible the stress of the job had made him age faster. Based on the disarray on his desk and the wrinkled state of his clothing, Detective John Collins was buried beneath cases. Why would they choose to assign this case to him, Brantley wondered.
“Your notes said they’re sticklers for routine,” Baz stated, stepping forward to look at the other files. “Did they jog at the same time every day?”
“Yes.” Collins picked up another file. “Shelly and Debbie ran in the early mornings, like Jody. Maria in the evenings, after dark.”
“Shelly Masters , Debbie Struthers, and Maria Espinoza?” Baz asked, raising the files he was holding.
Detective Collins nodded.
“Any similarities between the women? Does he have a type?” Trey inquired.
“They couldn’t be more different,” Detective Collins said, tossing the file back on the desk. “Shelly’s Caucasian, five foot three inches, blond hair, blue eyes. Maria’s Hispanic, five foot seven inches, dark brown hair, dark brown eyes. Debbie’s African American, five foot five with black hair and light brown eyes.”
Brantley saw the way Detective Collins spoke of these women. He didn’t need to look at a piece of paper to know their height, weight, or eye and hair color. More than likely, he had pored over these cases for so long, he saw them when he closed his eyes. The women he was determined to bring home to the families who missed them.
What Brantley found interesting was that he was using only their first names. Maybe he felt as though he knew them since he’d been working the cases for so long.
“Jody’s five foot eight, red hair, and green eyes,” the detective noted, a tad too casually.
Again, Baz clarified, lifting another folder. “Jody Henderson?”
So clearly Baz had noted the oddity as well.
“Maybe it’s the drastic differences he’s attracted to,” Trey noted.
Collins shrugged.
“Do you think these are crimes of opportunity?”
“Looks that way,” he answered with a heavy exhale.
“And these women…” Brantley paused until Detective Collins met his gaze. “You said their bodies haven’t turned up anywhere.”
“These particular women, that’s correct. However, my old partner thought it was a serial who snagged them. That maybe these aren’t his first victims.” The man lifted a notepad, grabbed a stack of photographs, and tossed them over.
Brantley knew what he would see when he looked at them, but he did so anyway. He took his time, memorizing the horror that this bastard had inflicted upon these women because he knew it would help him. It would be what drove him to find Jody Henderson before anyone could do the same to her.
“How long before their bodies appeared?” Baz asked, taking the pictures when Brantley passed them over.
“Those girls? Three hundred forty-seven days from the date of their disappearance.”
“That’s rather specific,” Trey noted. “Intentional, obviously.”
“Does he keep them alive during that time?” Reese asked.
“Yes. Each woman was kept alive until a few days before they were found.” His eyes darted to all the faces around him. “According to the ME, of course.”
“Any chance we can speak to your old partner?” Brantley asked, wondering if someone else might be able to shed some light on these cases.
Collins shook his head. “Up and moved to Montana. Said he was done with all this. Left no forwarding address, either.”
Interesting.
“How much time do we have?” Reese asked.
“Shelly’s been missing for three hundred and thirty-nine days.”
Shit. That meant they needed to work fast. There were four women missing, possibly taken by the same man, and if they didn’t find them soon, they would be dead.
Detective Collins met each face again. “If these are related, we don’t know why he targets them, what he does with them, or what that timeline signifies, which is why my boss insisted we bring someone in to help. The FBI’s been actively workin’ the case, determined it’s a serial killer, but he said the more eyes, the better.”
