The Trinity Murders Read online

  “Likewise.”

  “How are your three boys, Carl?”

  “Trying to stay out of trouble.”

  “Good, good. What do you have for us?”

  “Well, everything is pretty much the same except for the socks.” He handed Trufant an evidence bag with a pair of white ankle socks in them. “There was a cross embroidered into the socks, one cross in each sock.”

  “Just like victim #4, right?” said Topper.

  “Good memory,” said Trufant. “Victim #4 was wearing almost identical socks. We’ll have to compare the two. Maybe they used the same type of thread or stitch, something to match them. That would link these crimes.”

  “Possibly,” said Topper. “Although, it’s possible they could be mass produced and store bought.”

  “Sure, but see here.” Through the bag, Trufant exposed the inside of the sock. “The stitching is not bad but the backside is sloppy. If these were mass produced the back stitching would be clean, uniform. No, these are unique, handmade. This could be something.”

  “What made you remember the socks?” asked Magnusson.

  “Reading the case files on the flight down here, it just stood out to me. I still haven’t totally discounted it but I thought maybe these murders had a religious slant to it. When I read about the socks with the crosses, it just stuck.

  “It’s possible this victim, like victim #4, holds some sort of significance. If these socks are handmade, he’s taken the effort and care to hand stitch not just one cross, but two crosses, one in each sock. There’s no question these girls were special.”

  “I’ll be right back,” said Trufant. “I’ve transferred the evidence from all the victims here.”

  “Can you do that?” said Topper.

  “Every one of these is a cold case. Once I explained my theory, they’ve been happy to hand over the evidence,” said Trufant as he left the room.

  “If this is one killer,” said Magnusson, “he’s gone under the radar for three years. It’s hard to believe he would make such an obvious mistake as using the same socks, right?”

  “Possibly. Victim #4 was three years ago, in another state. If this is one killer, he’s been getting away with it for a long time. He may feel invincible or safe. He probably thinks this link would never be found. If she does mean something special to him, his compulsion to leave the socks, weighed against the slim possibility of a link being found, would be a no brainer for him.”

  “They’re gone,” said Trufant.

  “What is?” said Topper.

  “The socks. I did a quick inventory and everything else seems to be there except the socks.”

  “Did you check the log book? Has anybody looked at that evidence?” asked Topper.

  “I did and no. This evidence hasn’t been touched since it was brought in and catalogued.”

  “It’s possible that it got lost during transportation.”

  “No, it was lost here. I have the exit log from the precinct in Oklahoma and I personally logged each piece when it arrived. Both of those logs are still here. It was definitely lost or taken since it arrived here. Damnit!”

  “Well, we still have digital images so we’re not at a total loss. Once we catch this guy, we’ll have more then enough evidence to convict him. This one piece won’t prove fatal. What’s more important is what we’ve learned from this.”

  “Oh yeah, what’s that?”

  “First of all these murders are definitely connected, I think we can say that now. Second, in most serial murder cases, the first kill is almost always the most important. It’s the one that will give us the most information about the killer and is the most personal to him. What this tells me now is that the first three murders were probably warm ups and the fourth is the one that holds the most significance for this un-sub. We need to start looking at that fourth victim, the clues will be there.”

  14

  Topper breathed a renewed energy into these cases since he came aboard. Detective Mayfield decided to grab pictures of all the girls found in Texas and hit the streets in hopes of catching a break. Including the latest Jane Doe, he was armed with the photos of twelve girls as he set out.

  His task would be difficult today as the relenting heat continued to pound the state. Most of the girls he would usually find on the streets would be indoors until the heat broke later in the day. He was eager to help Sergeant Trufant and now Topper crack these cases. He wanted to prove himself as a valuable asset and show that he could be counted on. His goal was to get a killer off the street, but if Topper could also help him with his ambitions of getting to Quantico, then all the better.

  He pulled out of the parking lot in his ’68 Camaro with the air conditioner on full blast and the 80s rock station playing “Welcome to the Jungle.” For a split second he thought he should turn back around and go another time, but he was never one for superstition and didn’t give it another thought. What he had thought about was taking his department SUV, but he knew he would be spotted as a cop a mile away and thought he would have better luck in Sharon. Sharon was his pride and joy. Black from head to toe with tinted windows to match. He had always wanted one in high school but his parents couldn’t afford it. It was the first major purchase he made after joining the force.

  There were two areas on his list. One catered to hookers and the other to junkies. Nine of the twelve girls were found with fading track marks on their arms, so he thought he would have more luck starting there. Also, with this heat the hookers would pack up and wait for sunset before the druggies would. Needing a fix doesn’t lower as the heat index rises.

  Turning onto Hampton in West Dallas, if he was unable to find answers it wouldn’t be due to lack of people to talk with. There were six or seven street soldiers littering the block, a few of them with buyers. The real brass was up in the apartments watching over their product. Two cars were parked, one on each side of the street. A rusted out red Honda Civic on one side and a blue Toyota Prius on the other. Both cars had somebody leaning into the passenger windows. Mayfield pulled over.

  A boy about fifteen came shuffling up the street as if he had nothing better to do. He was wearing a baggy red hoodie, baggy black jeans, a Houston Astros hat and sucking on a lollipop. As he approached the Camaro, Mayfield rolled the window down and the boy leaned in.

  “Yo man, what you want?”

  Mayfield reached into his pocket and produced a hundred dollar bill. “Now look, you can have this hundred dollar bill if you just stand there and hear me out. If you aren’t willing to help me, the hundred is still yours and you walk away.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “I’m not interested in anything that’s going on down here. There’s some girls who have gone missing and I just want to talk to some of your people to see if they recognize anybody, that’s all.”

  “So you’re a cop.”

  “A detective, yeah. I’ve got twelve pictures here. Will you take a look at them?” Mayfield took the batch of pictures and handed them towards the runner.

  “What about my hundred bucks?”

  “Sure, here ya go.” He handed the runner the bill. “You’re free to go but I’m hoping you’ll look at the pictures and then maybe call one of your bosses upstairs to come down and do the same. Like I said, these pictures are my only interest.”

  The runner looked at the bill for a second, took off his hat and stuck it inside the brim. Since he didn’t sell any drugs for that money, he wasn’t going to tell his bosses. He put his hat back on and grabbed the pictures from Mayfield.

  “I’m Detective John Mayfield, by the way.”

  “Man, I don’t care who you are.” Leafing through the pictures Mayfield could see that six of the pictures registered with him. “Yeah, I recognize, I don’t know five or six of these girls but I don’t have any names. Most of these girls I haven’t seen in a long time but this last one, yeah it’s probably been about a month or so but she used to be down here a lot.”

  “You don’t
remember a name?”

  “Naw, it started with an “M.” Monica or Mindy, Michelle maybe, I don’t know. My boss used to make some time with her but I stayed out of all that.”

  “You think you could call him down here, maybe he could look at the pictures?”

  The runner gave him a frown and shook his head. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a walkie talkie. “Yo boss, I’m down here with a Detective John Mayfield, in a sweet ass ride, and he has pictures of a bunch of girls who’s gone missin’. I recognize a handful of them but the last one is that girl you were hanging with, hasn’t been around in awhile. He wants to know if you’ll come down and look at them.”

  “Excuse me?” said the boss. “No, never mind; that sounds crazy enough to be legit. I ain’t come down there though, bring him around back.”

  “You good with that?” said the runner.

  “Yeah, I can handle that.”

  He leaned into the walkie again, “We’ll be right there.”

  “Thank you.” Mayfield got out of the car and came around the front side of the car. Wearing jeans, a black leather jacket and a pair of Doc Martins, he looked like a cowboy, but not the kind who rides horses.

  “You’ve got a lot of balls coming down here,” said the runner.

  “I’m just trying to take a serial killer off the streets. If anything, he’s taking business away from your boss.”

  “You make a good point.”

  “What’s the odds of my car being safe here?”

  The runner thought about it for a second and put two fingers to his mouth and whistled. A boy no older than twelve came out of nowhere and ran up to the two men. “Make sure nothing happens to this car.” The boy leaned against the front bumper as Mayfield and the runner headed down the street.

  They walked into an apartment building three doors down. A metal security gate covered where a door used to be and the two men walked in. They walked past a staircase on the left and Mayfield thought the smell was a cross between mold and pot. Behind the staircase going up was another set of stairs going down and that was where they were headed. Once downstairs it was an open basement full of crap that nobody wanted. Broken bikes, old furniture and enough newspaper to set the whole building on fire with the smallest spark.

  The boss stepped out from behind a stack of pallets and he brought some muscle with him. There’s no question that all three men had guns but so did he. Mayfield had learned that if you acted normal and showed a little respect people usually gave that respect back. Even though he was out of his element and alone, he felt comfortable and knew how to get what he needed.

  “I’m sure you’re carrying; why don’t you just pass that over to me?” said the boss.

  “You must be joking.”

  The boss looked him up and down and realized Mayfield was outgunned anyway. “Fair enough.”

  Mayfield looked around and thought it was a safe bet there could be some bodies stored down here; the last thing he was going to do was give up his firearm willingly. A rustling sound from being caught his attention and he turned to face it. “What the hell is that?”

  “A damn cat got down here a few months ago and it won’t leave. We rarely see it. I have no idea what it’s eating down here to stay alive,” said the runner.

  The boss was dressed just like his runner except the hoodie was blue and the hat was the Cowboys. The muscle, though, was wearing a tank top and living up to his name.

  The boss reached out his hand. “Detective Mayfield.”

  “Call me John. I really appreciate you coming down here and talking to me.”

  “Well, I figure if there’s a guy behind these missing girls then he’s taking away from my business, so the least I could do is take a look.” He reached out his hand and the runner handed him the stack of photos. Mayfield saw the same acknowledgement of the girls the runner knew. “I recognize a few but they were so long ago the names aren’t there anymore. This one though, Mandy, yeah, she stayed with me awhile but I haven’t seen her in awhile.”

  “Is there anything you could tell me about her? A last name, where she’s from?”

  “A lot of the girls that come down here don’t want to be found. Mandy was one of those girls. I never got a last name or where she was from. Then one day she was just gone. I still have her backpack upstairs, though.”

  “You know, I remember something I never really gave much thought to before,” said the runner. “One night I got … a late business call and came downstairs about 3 a.m. and I saw her down the street getting into an SUV.”

  “You’re just thinking about that now?” said the boss.

  “You know how it is. People come and go down here. People be gone two, three weeks and then show up again. I didn’t even know she was really gone until Detective John here showed us these photos.”

  “Do you think I could get that backpack?”

  “Cruz, go on upstairs and get that backpack.” The muscle headed upstairs without a word.

  “Do you remember anything about that SUV?” asked Mayfield.

  “Not much, I was pretty much asleep when I came downstairs. It was dark color, I remember that. Maybe green or black, maybe blue.” He closed his eyes for second. “I do remember seeing a Ford logo on the tailgate, I’m sure about that. I came out of the apartment and it was parked where your car is facing the other direction. She got into the car and it took off. I met my guy and went back upstairs. Never thought about it again.”

  “You didn’t get a license plate or part of one? No stickers in the window or anything like that?”

  “Nope.”

  Cruz came back with the bag and handed it to his boss without a word. He handed it over to Mayfield. The backpack itself was nothing special. It was a well used Eastpak backpack. Hundreds of them existed at every high school across America.

  “Thanks. Have you gone through this?”

  “Naw man, I don’t invade people’s privacy.” Cruz and the runner exchanged a quick glance. “I always thought she might come back, but since she ain’t, you can keep that.” With that the two men started making their way back upstairs while the runner walked with Mayfield back out to his car. As soon as the boy watching the car saw them coming, he stopped leaning on the bumper and crossed the street and disappeared. Before they got all the way back to the car the runner had already turned around and started back. Mayfield thought about yelling thank you but instead decided to get into his car and get out of there before somebody decided that his presence was no longer welcome.

  He needed to get back to the station and try to catch up with Trufant and Topper in autopsy. He may have just found the evidence that could break this case.

  15

  Trufant and Topper were just leaving autopsy when Topper’s secondary cell phone went off. He knew it was too soon to have search results so she must have come across something else. Reaching for the phone, he was excited to hear what she came up with.

  “Oh, I knew you’d come up with something,” said Topper.

  “Yeah I did, but it’s not the search results.”

  “Too soon for those.” Topper gave himself a little smile as in the background he wasn’t hearing Motown but was hearing If You Want to be Happy by Jimmy Soul.

  “Yep. So I got out a map of the three states and I started plotting the burial grounds of each body, hoping a pattern would arise. I was hoping maybe they were on a major road or a certain type of area.”

  “Minnie.”

  “Right, each triptych of murders forms a triangle. They aren’t always the same size, they definitely aren’t always the same distance apart, but each three murders completes a triangle. I’ve never seen anything like it. The murder in Oklahoma is never further west then the murder in Texas. The murder in Texas is never further north then the murder in Louisiana. You would think that maybe once or twice would be a coincidence but I’m sitting here looking at 10 triangles with two thirds of an eleventh. Topper, I think I can tell you roughly where the next body is
going to be buried.”

  “Well let’s hope we can catch this guy before that triangle gets completed. That’s great work Minnie. We need to update the searches.”

  “I know. I’ve already started looking for people with a background of numerology. I’m looking into crimes with religious themes. I’m looking for crimes where three is a common number.”

  “Always one step ahead of me. You got my text about the socks right?”

  “Yep, the connection between victims thirty-two and four. Unfortunately, four is still a Jane Doe so we can’t dig into her past, but that probably means this guy got started in Oklahoma. Even though she was his second pass through Oklahoma, that makes the most sense.”

  “Exactly, so—”

  “Focus the search on Oklahoma. You know, even though we have this slip up with the socks, this guy is very good. It’s possible he’s never done time before.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been thinking that too. So let’s also look at guys who have law enforcement in their family backgrounds. You don’t make an omelet like this without breaking a few eggs. If he’s not breaking any eggs then he must have a good chef around to learn from.”

  “I’ll add in those parameters. I should be able to get you a working list pretty soon.”

  “That sounds great Minnie, I’ll be in touch. Oh and Minnie, great work.” With that he was gone.

  Minnie got the new searches started and sat back to survey her work. She was so pleased with the progress she was making that she took some time to check out her latest blog and add a new post. Although she no longer hacked as it would be a violation of her employment, she still has friends in the community and they sent her things from time to time. Minnie was fed up with how fast food chains prayed on Americans with misinformation and disinformation.

  The blog was called Fast Food Fast One and her friend in Oregon who went by the name Twist sent her a document about fast food shakes. The entry she wrote was about strawberry shakes and how they contained very little milk and no strawberries. It was no surprise that menu boards only labeled them as shakes and not milk shakes. What they did contain was fifty-nine different ingredients, forty of them chemicals. Artificial flavors and coloring is what gave off the impression that what people were actually drinking was a strawberry milkshake.