The Murder of Janessa Hennley (20 page)

3

The donut shop smelled like warm dough and sugar. Mickey picked out the twelve most fattening donuts he could, along with two Sprites.
The clerk boxed them, and then Mickey drove to the Madison County Sheriff’s Office.

The
flat, brown building lacked an ounce of decoration. The windows were clean and the trees well trimmed. No garbage littered the parking lot, but the building was ugly enough that cleanliness couldn’t make up for it.

Mickey
approached the front desk. An officer, an older woman with thinning hair, was eating Top Ramen. She sighed when she saw him and put the cup down.

“What do you want, Agent Parsons?”

“I’d like to speak to Detective Miller again, please.”

“Hold on.”

She buzzed him and spoke softly on the phone a moment. “Go on back. Third door on the right.”

“Thanks.”

He walked to Detective Toby Miller’s office and knocked on the open door. Miller finished whatever he was writing before leaning back and catching his gaze. His thick, bushy mustache drooped over his top lip. One of his buttons was open; he wasn’t wearing a shirt underneath. The pit stains under his arms expanded to his chest.

“Agent Parsons. Still in town and no collar yet, huh?”

“Working on it,” Mickey said, sitting down across from him. “Here.” He placed the donuts and drinks on the desk.

“Banbury Cross, I’m impressed. But nothin’
is free in the world. What do you want, Agent Parsons, in exchange for the ten dollars in donuts you brought me?”

“I want what you want. To catch this son of a bitch. I don’t care about headlines, Toby. I don’t
care about interviews. You can have all of it. I just want to make sure this doesn’t happen to another girl.”

“That’s what y’all say,
” he scoffed, “and then the cameras come ’round and the local police seem to get forgotten in your ‘thank you’ speeches. Makes us look bad, and the sheriff is an elected position. He can’t look bad.”

“Anything I find, I give to you directly. You don’t have to mention me anywhere.”

“Except in the police reports and in court when they ask me where I got the evidence. Sorry, Paco, I don’t think I’m gonna be playin’ your game.”

He nodded. “Then it looks like I’ll be hanging on to any evidence I find. And when I do have enough to make a collar, maybe the local TV station will be my first call instead of the good people of the Madison County Sheriff’s Office. And when they ask me what your involvement was, I’ll have to truthfully tell them that you refused to cooperate and the FBI apprehended the suspect on our own. Now
, how do you think the sheriff would react to that? Considering it’s an elected position and all.”

Miller ran his finger across the desk and made a sucking noise
as if a piece of meat was stuck between his teeth. His gaze was fixated on the desk a long time, and he kept wrinkling his forehead. The frequency of it implied he didn’t know he was doing it.

“Fine. What do you wanna know?” Miller said.

“I want all the forensic reports. The ones made by the team that was out before we got there.”

“Who said a team
was up there?”

Mickey took out his phone and opened a photograph. A trail of boot
prints led around the body. “Next time you bring out a forensics team to work a scene, you may want to tell them to wear booties over their boots. Unless, of course, these are the killer’s prints, in which case we should have them analyzed right away.”

Miller
’s cheeks flushed red. “You know damn well they ain’t.”

“Contaminating a scene isn’t going to play well. Especially since you did it just so you’d have first crack at the evidence.” Mickey
bit into one of the donuts. “Your sheriff asked us to come out, Toby. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t want it. I was perfectly happy at my desk, writing reports from nine to five. And the only way I’m getting back to my desk is if we catch him. So please, help me out here. Give me the initial forensic reports.”

He exhaled and reached into his desk
, producing a thick stack of reports. He tossed them across the desk. Mickey placed them in his lap.

“Thank you, Toby. I knew we’d hit it off eventually.”

“Tell my secretary to make you copies. I want the originals.”

As
Mickey walked out of the office, Toby mumbled, “Cocksucker,” behind him.

4

Harold Ricks stood on the roof of an apartment building and looked down at the sidewalk twelve stories below. His gray beard moved in time with the wind. He lifted one leg and then the other and did a little twirl, spitting in the face of death. He laughed with surprise at his lack of fear.

The police had been called
, but they weren’t shouting anything through a megaphone like he saw in the movies. They hid their cars around the block and rushed into the building to get up onto the roof. Luckily, he just happened to have a key he stole from the maintenance crew years ago.

A woman walked by
below him.

“Hey!” he shouted. “Hey! You think you’d go flat if I landed on you?” The woman couldn’t hear him and kept walking.
Shuffling along, he followed her to the edge of the building and then exposed himself to her.

A key
clicked in the lock behind him. Two police officers rushed him as if he was a quarterback with the ball. He held out his arms and looked up to the sky. Two sets of hands grabbed him and threw him down. A knee slammed into his back. The knee pressed so hard he couldn’t suck in breath.

“Bastards,” he hissed quietly. “You saved my life to kill me?”

They lifted him, and he took in a breath as they dragged him off the roof and down to their cruisers. Once he was in the back, one of the officers turned to him.

“What the hell you doin’ up there?”

“Just havin’ fun. That’s what this is all ’bout, ain’t it? Havin’ fun.”

“I shoulda just let you splat on the ground.”

“I shoulda taken you with me.”

“Is that a threat?”

“To take you off the roof with me? How can I threaten that in handcuffs in the back of your car? They give out stupid pills this mornin’ or somethin’?”

The other officer said, “Ignore it. Let’s take him down to get booked and finish this fucking
day.”

As the cruiser pulled away, Harold
peered at an old house next to the building. Through the bedroom window, on the bed, he could just see the mop of blonde hair, messy and crusted red. He smiled to himself. He’d take her down to his special room after he got out of this.

“You ain’t gonna search me or my house, huh?”

“Why? You got somethin’ in there we should see?”

“Got me a girl. She just dyin’ for me to get back.”

“You ain’t got no girl, old man. Now shut up before I put a sack over your head.”

He smiled and shrugged. “Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

5

Around nine p.m. Mickey got the call that the autopsy had been completed. He knocked on Angela’s door. She answered in pajamas as an episode of
Breaking Bad
played on the television.

“Autopsy’s done. Let’s go.”

“That fast?”

“I called in a favor.”

She gathered her clothes before entering the bathroom to change. “With who?” she yelled out.

“Former instructor at the academy who’s on the medical licensing board here. Doctors don’t turn down requests from them.”

Angela emerged in her suit and grabbed her earrings before heading out. As Mickey drove, he glanced over at her. She was playing some game with cannons and a wall on her phone.

“Can I ask you something personal?” he said.

“Sure.”

“How old are you, Angela?”

“Twenty-four. Why?” she said without looking up.

“Just curious.”

She put her phone down on her lap. “How old are you?”

“How old do I look?”

She considered him. “Forty?”

“Fifty-four.”

“No way.” She turned back to her phone. “Hope I look that good at fifty-four.”

He grinned. “I feel seventy though, so it’s a trade
-off.”

The Madison County Government Complex held the county jail, the district court
, and the Medical Examiner’s offices. A rusted metal placard that said “Medical Examiner” perched near a walkway.

It
was cool inside, with a paint-thinner type scent. The receptionist said that the autopsy reports would be ready in a minute. As they sat in the waiting area, Mickey checked his cell phone for messages, but there weren’t any.

“You were a lawyer before the Bureau, right?” Angela asked.

“Yeah. Prosecutor and then defense attorney.”

“Did you like it?”

“It had its moments. But this does, too. This is your first case, so you haven’t experienced the good parts yet. The moment your suspect confesses, the jury coming back with a guilty verdict, the family crying and thanking you. You’ll get all of that. But you’ll also see the worst humanity has to offer. And you’ll have to decide whether it’s worth it. Most agents transfer out of Behavioral Science because the bad is too much for them.”

“But not for you?”

“As long as you remember that people, all people, are capable of anything, you can deal with it.”

“Agent Parsons?” the receptionist said.

Mickey rose and retrieved the twenty-two pages of autopsy reports. Immediately, he flipped through the clinical summary and the gross findings. Scanning the sheets of paper, he found the line for the stomach contents.

“Well?” Angela said. “What’s it say?”

“Ten liters of cake. The human stomach at full expansion can only hold about four. We were right; she was fed to death.”

6

Mickey sat across from Angela at the diner. He read the autopsy reports as she tapped her phone against the table. He glanced up at her; she grinned and stopped.

A waitress—not Debbie—
came to take their order. He ordered a coffee and a tuna sandwich. She requested pancakes, ham and eggs, a side of bacon, a slice of pie, and a Coke.

“What?” she said, holding his gaze. “I’m hungry.”

“You’re not going to make retirement, you keep eating like that.”

“I’ve always had a fast metabolism. Some people just don’t have to worry about some stuff.” She took a sip of her Coke. “So
, the reports say anything we didn’t know?”

“Same as Lincoln County.
Rope, probably nylon, caused the ligature marks. Stomach rupture and death by sepsis and exsanguination. The stomach ruptured at six liters, but he kept going. Trauma to the esophagus suggests the use of a feeding tube.” He placed the reports in the file, and the file in the satchel by his feet, as if that would hide the images. “It wasn’t enough for her to die. He wanted to feed her so much that the skin split on her abdomen. He wanted to see it.”

“Weirdo. Any signs of sexual assault?”

“None. Which is odd, considering she was nude.”

“Maybe he couldn’t get it up?”

“Maybe, but there was no sexual assault in Lincoln County, either.” He stared out the window, thinking for a moment. “We may need help on this.”

“Why?”

“He might’ve already fled the state, but if he’s still here, we have to move as fast as possible. I think we can do more if we call Kyle to send in a couple more agents. Or have Gillian come out.”

“Gillian
, as in our boss Gillian?”

“She’s one of the best I’ve seen at this. If we need to catch him fast, she can help.”

Angela looked at him as if he was a child. “She’ll also take the case away from us and maybe not give us any more tough ones.”

“It’s not about that. It’s about the perpetrator and making sure he can’t do this again.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it. It’s a black mark when you have to call your boss to come help you. And this is my first case; I can’t let that be how Gillian remembers me. You’re getting to the end of your career, Mickey, but I’m just at the beginning. Please, don’t do this. We can catch this guy.”

Mickey swirled some cream in
to his coffee. The white twirled into the black, forming a seashell shape. “All right,” he finally said. “But if I feel we’re not going in the right direction, I’m calling Gillian.”

“That’s fair,” she said. “So what now?”

“We need to go talk to her parents.”

The Belnaps lived in a quiet suburb outside the town of Ridge Park
, twenty miles from where police found Carrie Ann. Mickey studied the cars in the neighborhood. Mostly minivans and SUVs, a few Suburbans. Cars meant for hauling large families. Trees bowed over the spotless streets, providing shade. Two children were fighting with plastic swords on the sidewalk, and Mickey watched them a long time.

“Mick?”

“Yeah?”

“You okay? You zoned off there.”

“I’m fine. Just tired. Let’s go.”

They stepped out of the car
in front of an off-white brick home with a large driveway. Taking the concrete steps two at a time, Angela reached the doorbell first and waited off to the side of the door as Mickey had taught her. They were the parents of a murder victim; they might be jumpy and come to the door armed. She rang the doorbell once Mickey joined her.

The door opened
, and a woman wiping her hands on a dishtowel stood there. She glanced from one of them to the other. “Yes?”

“Mrs. Belnap?” Mickey said.

“Yes.”

“I’m Special Agent Mickey Parsons
, and this is Agent Listz. We’re with the Federal Bureau of Investigation and would like to have a few words about your daughter, if we could.”

Though her hands were dry, she continued wiping them. “Okay, come in.”

They sat on the couch. The woman went into the kitchen and started the dishwasher. When she came back out, she rested in a chair across from them. Her eyes focused on the wall to the left, and they appeared glassy. On the kitchen table, Mickey saw an amber bottle of medication with the lid off.

“Mrs. Belnap,” Mickey said, getting her attention. “I’m sorry for your loss. I understand some detectives were by a couple days ago and discussed everything with you.”

“Yes,” she said, grinning, “they were very nice.”

“I’m sure they were. We’re all just trying to find out what happened to Carrie Ann.”

“She’s at school. She’s studying communications because she wants to be a news reporter. Won’t she just make the cutest news reporter you’ve ever seen?”

Mickey
forced a smile. The pity he felt made him want to apologize and leave right now. But he knew he couldn’t do that. Otherwise, he’d be sitting in another home just like this, speaking with another parent about the same thing. “Mrs. Belnap, when was the last time you saw your daughter?”

“This morning. We had cereal together. We’ve been doing that since she was a little girl
, because her father used to do it with her. But Richard’s not with us anymore, so she and I do it.”

“May I see her room, please?”

“Certainly. Follow me.”

They followed her down a short hallway to a room decorated with white wallpaper.
Mickey realized the red hearts on the walls were stickers, not part of the wallpaper.

“May we have a minute alone
, please?”

“Of course. But she doesn’t like it when people go through her things
, so please don’t touch anything.”

“We won’t. Thank you.”

When she was gone, Angela raised her eyebrows. “Well, she’s a space cadet.”

“It’s not her fault. You don’t have kids, but when you do
, you’ll see why turning your mind off after something like this isn’t the worst option.” He scanned the room and then opened the closet, running his finger along her shirts.

“What’re we looking for?”

“Anything. I have a feeling this was a random attack. Those are the hardest cases you’ll ever have. Do you know why?”

“No discernible motive. At least until we capture him.”

“And even then, some of them don’t know why they did it. Just urges they can’t control.” He shut the closet.

After looking under the bed and through the dresser drawers, he sat down in a pink rocking chair in the corner. Finally, he said, “There’s nothing here. Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“Last place she was seen alive.”