“She was last seen on August sixteenth. That will put us in that two-week window. I need you to pull it for me.”
“What’s the deal? Is Jennifer in some kind of trouble?”
“Someone killed her,” she said.
“Shit.”
“Yeah, shit is right.” She removed a business card from her wallet. “Call me when you have those recordings later today.”
“Sure.”
She stepped outside into the bright sunshine, her gaze skimming the businesses around Red’s. How many had surveillance cameras?
In her car, she started the engine and called Agent Jackson and updated him on both cases as she drove through town. He pledged to send officers to the businesses around Red’s. If there was footage, it would be recovered.
Ten minutes later, Melina pulled into the TBI parking lot, where Ramsey waited in his black SUV. She locked her car, got into the passenger seat, and placed her backpack between her feet.
He handed her a cup of coffee, which she gratefully accepted. It tasted sweet, like two-packets-of-sugar sweet. She checked the burger. No cheese. “And how did you know I don’t like cheese?”
“Because I’m not a fan,” he said.
“Lucky guess, then?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Your powers of observation are a little too keen for me.” As she sipped her coffee, she updated him on Red’s and the hunt for camera footage.
“We might get lucky with the video surveillance at Red’s. Most killers like the two we are dealing with are creatures of habit,” he said.
“Wouldn’t that be nice?” She bit into the hamburger. Not bad. If she had had her way, she would have adjusted the relish-to-ketchup-to-mustard ratio, but she was too hungry to complain.
“Andy did a quick search on Edward Mecum. I can tell you he comes from money. He was married twice and has two children and several grandchildren with the second wife. He lives off his investments. He has several properties north of Nashville. As tempting as it is to reach out to his family, I don’t want to spook him now. Better to learn all we can about him before we approach the family.”
“Agreed.”
“According to county utility records, the house account billing is current.”
She plucked a fresh napkin from the stack. “There are areas north of Nashville that are very isolated. If a woman were held there, no one would ever know it.”
Images of the van’s interior appeared in her mind and then quickly switched to the pictures of the dead prostitutes’ wrists. All were ringed with red marks left by too-tight handcuffs.
“What happened to the first wife?” Melina asked.
“She divorced him in 1999.”
“Divorced in 1999? The killings started in ’99, correct?” Melina asked.
Life stressors for an individual with homicidal fantasies could send them over the edge. In Mecum’s case, the stress was not money but perhaps a divorce.
“Do you know anything about the ex-wife?” she asked.
“I haven’t been able to locate her yet,” Ramsey said. “We’re working on it.”
“It’s been twenty-one years since the divorce and there’s no record of her?”
“No.”
In Melina’s experience, women living normal lives did not generally fall off the radar. “Any children in the relationship?”
“Not according to public records.”
Confirming for her that blessings came in all forms, and a childless marriage for a guy who liked to cut up prostitutes was one.
“Mecum does have a law degree, but he never practiced,” Ramsey offered. “Family money meant he didn’t have to work.”
“What about his parents or siblings?” she asked.
“No siblings. Mother died of cancer fifty years ago and father died in a car crash when the boy was fourteen.”
She shifted and drank her coffee. The caffeine was kicking in and sharpening her senses.
They drove in silence up I-24 north until the city gave way to strip malls and then finally rolling hillsides. Ramsey followed the winding roads until his GPS alerted him that the address was fast approaching. Melina had to look twice to spot the mailbox covered in thick twisting vines. He slowed and turned into the dirt driveway that wound up a hill.
“This is some property,” she said.
Ramsey drove up the steep driveway, maneuvering around the switchbacks with practiced ease. He rounded the last corner, and the SUV suddenly nosed into a circular driveway with a brick house with a wide front porch. The lights were off in the house, and the two rockers on the porch looked as if they had spent the better part of the winter and summer exposed to the elements. The shades on all the windows were drawn. The yard looked as if no one had been there in months.
Ramsey shut off the engine and they both got out. They shifted so that their weapons were easily accessible as they walked up the gravel pathway to the front steps. As she stood to the side, Ramsey tried the front door. After discovering it was locked, he banged his fist on the door.
The sound echoed in the house, rattling around like a marble in an empty jar. She peered between the window frames and the shades covering them. Each sliver of opening revealed views into what appeared to be empty rooms.
“How long has he owned this property?” she asked.
“Thirty years.”
“That’s a long time.”
“Serial killers generally begin with violent fantasies and then graduate to arson and then rape. Out here, he could have had total control over his victims.”
“As far as we know, he’s killed prostitutes exclusively,” she said.
“They are the perfect victims.”
She studied the thick front door and then tested the handle herself with a twist. It was definitely locked. “I could break the glass.”
“I wish. We don’t even know we have the right guy. And whatever you find in there won’t be admissible in court.”
She peered again through the small gap between the curtain and the edge of the window. The back of her neck tightened just as it had when the Key Killer had approached her.
“Maybe there’s a back door that’s unlocked,” she said.
“We still don’t have a warrant.”
She turned from the window and went down the front steps. He followed, and the two walked through the tall grass around to the back side of the house. All the windows were covered in thick curtains, and it was impossible to get a good look inside.
Melina faced away from the house, staring at the small open field behind the structure. “Those two women I was looking for have still not been found.”
“This killer discarded the bodies of his other victims. It doesn’t make sense he would bury a victim on the property.”
She stared at the dense line of woods. “He’s getting older,” she said. “There are more surveillance cameras in the world. It’s harder to get away with murder. And I stuck him good.”
She walked toward the woods, not really sure what she was searching for. “He dumped his former victims in the woods. If I were older and wiser, I’d definitely stick close to home. He has perfectly good woods near this house.”
Ramsey nodded. “What better way to relive the fantasy of killing a woman than to step out on your porch and stare into the woods where she’s buried. He’s far from any nosy neighbors here.”
Several more steps and she caught the first whiff of death’s rancid scent. It had been hot the last two weeks, so any creature or human left out here would decompose quickly.
“Do you smell it?” she asked.
“I certainly do,” he said.
Both drew their weapons and moved closer to the tree line. Melina was ten feet away when the stench hit her full in the face. She coughed, raised her hand to her mouth.
“There it is,” he said. “Do you see it?”
She narrowed her gaze and searched the underbrush until she caught sight of an outline of decomposed remains.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Thursday, August 27, 4:30 p.m.
Search warrant in hand, Ramsey and Melina watched as a locksmith opened the front door to Mecum’s house. A faint sense of excitement churned in Ramsey. This was the closest he had come to this killer, and the idea of catching him now was painfully tantalizing.
The medical examiner had arrived, along with a half dozen marked police vehicles. Yellow crime scene tape had been strung and a tent and multiple tables erected to create a mobile workstation. Agent Jackson was on scene overseeing the search of the woods for more bodies and any trace of Mecum.
The lock turned and the first uniformed cop pushed open the door. That officer and two others entered the house and searched it. They came out ten minutes later. “All yours,” the officer said.
Latex tightened against Ramsey’s skin as he flexed his fingers. He did not reach for the light switch but waited as the technician dusted for prints. As much as he wanted to search the house, he did not want to destroy vital forensic evidence that would help them nail this guy.
When the scene was all clear, the two walked through the first floor into an outdated kitchen that looked out over a den and a tall fireplace.
She ran her finger over the counter, collecting a thick coating of dust. She opened the refrigerator, which released a stale, musty smell from no use. The freezer was the same.