^^ The small station sits on the corner of Church and Main, a modest yellow brick one-story structure surrounded by a small, well-kept lawn. A narrow, winding walkway leads visitors to the front. There's a faded sign above the glass door, a reminder of the city's humble beginnings.
The interior is compact but somehow functional despite the crowded space. The work areas are neatly arranged in a semicircular fashion. Each small sector within the main floor is cluttered with case files and personal mementos. Ringing phones and constant chatter are heard throughout the station the majority of the day and long into the night. The constant clamor echoes down the dark, narrow hallway that leads to the interrogation rooms. Further down the sparse walkway sit three small holding cells.
Rachel is working at her desk when Joe steps through the door. "I heard you caught a case today."
"It's more like it caught me." She quickly explains the call and what little she'd found out through their talk and at the scene. "We didn't find any blood at the scene, so he'd had to have dumped the body and staged the scene." She hands him some pictures. "The factory cameras haven't worked in years, so I'm having the rookies check the traffic cams."
"Have you been able to ID her?"
"I didn't get any hits on her prints or facial rec, so I'm having the beat cops show her pictures around. I figure with Berryville being as small as it is, someone is bound to know her."
"You'd think." Living in a small town, everyone seems to know each other. The downside to that is everyone also knows your business." Sharon didn't find anything that'd help narrow your search?"
"She didn't have any dental work done, and she didn't have any tattoos or visible scars. Forensics did say that her clothes are from a brand Walmart sold a decade or so ago and that they'll have an approximate age on her soon, which will narrow my search down some."
"Could they determine the time of death?"
"Sharon said she died somewhere between two and six this morning, which correlates with what the caller said."
"Run her profile through missing persons and see what you can find."
"I'm working on that now."
Joe starts to walk away when Rachel says, "I think I found her."
He turns to find a six-year-old girl on the screen.
"According to my search, our victim was abducted from a Georgia mall in 1996." Rachel holds up the woman's picture next to the screen. Her features appear to match. "I'll have forensics do their photo magic to be sure," she says, reaching for the ringing phone. "Sergeant Bower." "I believe her name is Jennifer Barnes," Rachel says, putting the call on speaker.
"Nice try, detective, but you're way off base. If you would've searched a little further, you would've found little Jennie was found floating in a river a month after she was abducted and that her father confessed to the killing, saying he was saving her from becoming her mom."
She glances at the screen again and asks, "Who is the victim then?"
"You're a smart girl detective; you'll figure it out, but only if you narrow your search closer to home, say within a hundred miles of Berryville or so. Actually, I'm surprised you don't recognize her since she was headline news for months. Her followers were so heartbroken over her death that they started a GoFundMe so they could offer a reward."
"Is that why you killed her, because she was such a hit, a big star?"
"No, no, detective, you have me all wrong. I'm happy when people make it to the limelight. Especially when they rise up from nothing the way both you and she did. She was a small-town farm girl who shoveled manure for a living before she became a star. She should be admired for that and commended for her determination and her drive."
"It sounds like you admired her."
"Oh, I did, Sergeant, but like many young folks these days, bad influences led her astray." He clears his throat before continuing. "To answer your original question, I would never dream of killing a law-abiding citizen, not that I can find too many of them around these days."
"So why are you doing what you are?"
"My mission is quite simple, Sergeant; I go after career criminals. The ones who blow every chance they get. There are a lot of those out there, you know. This one was so deep into drugs and other violent crimes that, like your Emma, there's no hope in her ever turning her life around."
"So you see yourself as a vigilante trying to clean up the world, make it a better, safer place to live?"
"I give them one last shot at redemption before I take their life. Unfortunately, I don't seem to be having much luck these days."
"And how is that?"
"After failing with her, I tried even harder with her friends, but sadly enough, I was unsuccessful once again. You'll find them close to where you were earlier today."
"Near the Tyson building?" She asks, glancing up at Joe. Nodding, he rushes away from her desk.
"It was such a thrill doing what I did, dumping the bodies and then staging the scene knowing you were nearby. An adrenaline rush, really, defying the odds, knowing I could get caught at any time."
"I was close to you?" she asks, trying to retrace her steps.
"I could smell your perfume drift through the stale air. It was a treat, really, going from that horrid chicken smell to your heavenly scent. I've always loved the smell of White Diamonds. I have since I was a kid."
"Did your wife wear White Diamonds? Maybe it was your mama, or perhaps it was both."
"You're good, sergeant, but I'm too smart for that."
"For what?"
"Your feeble attempt to get me to tell you about myself."
"So you have a college education. Did you go to NACC or maybe Arkansas State?"
"He laughs and says, 'You're tenacious, I'll give you that.'"
"It's only fair that you tell me something about yourself since you seem to know so much about me and my family."
He chuckles and says, "Until we talk again." The phone disconnects.
Hanging up, Rachel turns toward her crew and says, "Search for missing persons in Arkansas that have hit headline news. Check social media too. Kirk, you and I will check the abandoned houses on Freeman."
"I'll tell forensics to meet us there."
Jerry glances up from his computer. "He's right, Sergeant. The officer found Jenifer Barnes floating in the river exactly one month after she disappeared."
"So he's on social media and a true crime buff," Rachel says, writing that down in her book.
***
The old white house stood at the end of a small, overgrown drive. Its exterior is maimed by the passage of time. The once eggshell-white paint is peeling, and the small front porch sags from years of neglect. The front yard is a mix of weeds and wildflowers. Creating a refuge for snakes and other unwanted guests. The windows that had once protected the interior from the elements have been replaced with boards. Rachel walks around to the side of the house to find one of the rotting covers has been pried away. Pulling her gun from its holster, she steps inside and looks around.
The interior is thick with dust and mildew. Cobwebs cover the once tan walls, and a thick layer of soot covers the dated furniture. Despite its dilapidated appearance and years of neglect, the house still holds some charm.
Stepping further into the house, they find two well-dressed women sitting on the couch. Both posed to make it look like they were watching the dated TV. The twelve o'clock news is playing on the screen. It's not noon yet, Rachel thinks. She then notices the date, June 10th, 2014.
"A third child was reported missing in the Berryville area late yesterday evening," the commentator says.
The screen goes dark, and a synthesized voice says, "I do hope that's enough of a clue to help you ID these two, pipsqueak."
"I'm really getting tired of these games," she says. Walking over, she turns off the tape.
"Pipsqueak?" Kirk chuckles.
"It was a name Mama gave me when I was young because I was smaller than others my age."
"Pipsqueak." He laughs.
The sergeant spins around. She shoves her hands on her hips, squares her jaw, and through clenched teeth she says, "Call me that again or tell anyone, and you'll be riding the desk for months."
"Sorry, Sergeant, it won't happen again."
"It better not."
They survey the room and quickly discover that, like the first, the crime scene is staged and the bodies dumped. "Jeff, check the cameras on Freeman and Main."
"I'm on it, sergeant."
Seeing the ME step back inside, Rachel asks, "What'd you find?"
"According to body temp and rigor, I'd say they died around the same time the first victim did. Unlike the first, I was able to ID them through facial recognition." Handing Rachel her tablet, she continues. "As you can see, both had a record a mile long."
Scanning the list, Rachel says, "All petty crimes."
"Here's something interesting."
"What is it, Kirk?"
"I ran their names and found that they both were abducted when they were six. Their abductions occurred a week apart. One was taken while waiting for the school bus, and the second while walking home from her friends."
"Was their kidnapper ever caught?"
Typing in a new search, he says, "Not that I can find."
"Maybe whoever took these girls took my little girl and Jane Doe too. Rachel thinks, "I'll talk to the parents to see what they can tell me."
"According to this, both families moved to Missouri. One in Springfield, the other in Rolla."
"I guess the memories were too painful for them here. I want you to see if you can find any link between them." I want a list of names of all the children who are kidnapped the same year she is. "Yes, Sergeant. "She is about to leave when her phone rings. "Sergeant Bower."
"Did you find the present I left for you?" The caller asks.
"We found your two victims." She glances at her caller ID to find it's coming from a private number. Figures, she thinks.
"I'm not talking about them; I'm talking about the bottle of perfume."
Rachel glances over at the table.
"I wanted to make sure you're wearing it when we meet again."
The next time we meet will be when I'm bringing you in, Rachel thinks. Swallowing her anger, she says, "The last time we talked, you said that you only go after the career criminals."
"That's right. I figure someone has to take care of them, since you damn cops don't seem to be doing your jobs. Of course it's not entirely your fault, not with the judicial system the way it is, letting them out with a slap on the wrist. Overcrowding, they claim, but how can the prisons be overcrowded when there are more criminals in the free world than behind bars?"
"You seem to know a lot about our broken system."
"I'm very educated about a lot of things, detective. And that's why tactics you were taught at the academy will never work on me."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Keep me talking, hoping I'll slip up."
"You do seem like a highly educated man, especially when it comes to policing and that."
"Stroking my ego, I like that, but flattery will get you nowhere with me. I'm too smart for that too."
"I'm not trying to butter you up; I'm just stating facts. I think it's clever the way you staged the scene. Your crime scenes are meticulous; leaving no evidence behind is a feat in itself. That's something only a brother in blue would know how to pull off. So, are you a cop? Maybe retired? Perhaps the captain reprimanded you over a justified shoot, and now you're doing what you always believed was right—getting scumbags off the streets and behind bars."
"Nice try, detective, but like I said before, your little antics won't work on me." The phone disconnects.