Out of Pendant Cove

One

Prologue

Allison Garvey woke to the sound of someone humming. Her dad always sang or hummed when he was in the kitchen making a batch of his fabulous bagels or some other treat she could never resist.

Thank god, she thought. It had all been just a horrible nightmare. She was safe and sound in her bed at her parents’ house. She breathed in through her nose expecting some tantalizing aroma, but instead the smell of bleach assaulted her. That can’t be right.

She forced herself to open her eyes and fear immediately slammed into her. This most certainly was not the bedroom at her parents’ house. That hadn’t been sunlight turning her closed eyelids red, but rather bright fluorescent lighting hanging down from the ceiling. There would never be sunlight in this room. There were no windows.

Afraid to move, Allison took in the details of the part of the room she could see without moving her head. Stark white walls. A rolling table like they use in hospital rooms. Except this one was stainless steel and the tray on it held a variety of items guaranteed to instill terror.

Quickly averting her eyes from the odd collection of terrifying items, she continued the visual inventory. There was a closed door to the left. There was no window in it and it looked solid. If it was locked, she’d have no hope of getting through it. Plus, she was pretty sure the humming was coming from the other side of it.

Trembling head to toe, she tentatively attempted to move her head and felt a measure of relief when she could move it side to side. It was gone in an instant when a test of her arms and legs confirmed her worst fears. She was tied to the table upon which she lay.

She closed her eyes again as the memory of last night washed over her like a bucket of ice water. She had been walking back to the dorm from the library. She was hurrying because she’d forgotten a jacket. It had been a warm Fall day, but once the sun set and the wind picked up, the temperature had plummeted. Nearly running, clutching her books to her chest, all she had been thinking about was getting back to her room and out of the cold.

She should have been paying more attention to her surroundings. She knew that. She couldn’t even begin to count the number of times her dad had talked to her about all the bad things that could happen to a woman walking alone after dark and how important it was to be aware of everything around her. Even though she paid attention to what he said, she secretly thought he was just being paranoid and over protective.

Allison’s memory of the rest of the evening was a bit fuzzy. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed since she left the library. With no windows, she couldn’t even tell if it was night or day. She tugged experimentally at the restraints on her wrists. They were leather straps with a buckle like a belt. Each strap was secured to the table she was on by a metal ring.

The straps weren’t going to come loose. The only way to free herself would be to pull her hand out of the strap. She bent her thumb and pinky toward each other, making her hand as narrow as possible, then she pulled as hard as she could. The leather cut into her skin, but it was too tight to slip her hand free. She tried the other hand with the same result. Her feet were no better. Each ankle was secured to a corner of the table so that she was lying spread eagle. At least she was dressed.

The humming stopped and Allison froze. The door opened and a man smiled at her. I see you’re awake. How nice. His voice reminded her of a doctor or dentist when they first walk into the exam room. Like they are trying to put the patient at ease.

What do you want? Her voice sounded weak even to herself.

He stroked her hair away from her face. His hand stilled for a moment when she flinched away from his touch, but then he continued petting her hair. Isn’t it obvious? Without waiting for a response, he continued. I want you.

He walked over to the tray filled with things she couldn’t identify and didn’t want to look at. He pulled the tray near her and selected a large pair of scissors. He held them up to the light and turned them this way and that, inspecting them. Then he looked down at her and pure terror filled Allison.

She opened her mouth to scream, but he muffled it with a hand. Wide eyes stared at him and his smile widened. I assure you that no one will hear you no matter how loudly you scream. But I find the noise grating and counterproductive. So, I will say this just once. If you continue to scream and carry on, I will gag you. I would rather not, because a gag would detract from such a lovely face. Do you understand?

Allison nodded.

Good. I’m going to remove my hand. Do you give me your word you won’t scream?

She nodded again and he slowly pulled his hand away.

Excellent. He moved toward the end of the table by her feet. Lifting a pant leg, he began cutting them up the side with the scissors. He cut all the way from the bottom hem to the waistband, then repeated the same action on the other side. Leaving her pants where they were, he turned his attention to her sweater, cutting it from hem to neck.

Allison was shaking so badly she was afraid he’d end up stabbing her in the throat with the point of the scissors. Then again, a quick death right now might be a better option.

The man returned the scissors to the tray then stared down at Allison. Slowly, he pulled the two sides of her sweater apart. He giggled. A sound that struck Allison as befitting an adolescent, not a full-grown man. Oops. Forgot something. He retrieved the scissors and grinned at her. He slid the scissors under the bottom edge of her bra and cut it straight up the middle.

Again, he placed the scissors on the tray and turned back to Allison. He pulled the two sides of her bra apart, baring her breasts to his gaze. For a long moment, he simply stared. Then he placed a large hand on her breast and kneaded. Closing his eyes, he let out a groan. Opening his eyes, he watched Allison’s face as he grasped a nipple between his thumb and forefinger and pinched hard.

She couldn’t help it. She cried out in pain. He giggled again.

He turned his attention next to her pants. He started at the waist and slowly peeled the top half of her pants away from her body. He stared for a moment, then ran the fingers of one hand up the inside of one leg, across the crotch of her panties and down the inside of the other leg.

Allison was afraid she might throw up. Please. Just let me go. I promise I won’t tell anyone. Just let me go. She felt a tear slip free and drip into her hair.

His smile disappeared. Why would you want to go? We’re together now. He reached for the scissors one more time and made a cut on both sides of her panties. He peeled them down, laying the fabric on the table between her legs. Setting the scissors on the tray, he traced the outside edge of her pubic hair on first one side then the other. He moved his finger back to the top of the dark triangle and ran it straight down forcing the tip between the folds to her most sensitive spot.

She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. Keeping her eyes tightly shut, she tried to imagine herself anywhere but here. But his next move made that even more difficult.

His finger continued its path until it reached the opening between her legs. She heard him giggle again just before he roughly pushed all four fingers inside her. With his fingers inside her and his thumb wedged between her folds, he squeezed.

Allison cried out again, but kept her eyes shut tight.

Oh yes. You and I are going to have a lot of fun. This time he laughed.

Chapter One

Five weeks later

Saturday, November 28th

9:30 a.m.

FBI Special Agent Lance Hastings squatted next to the remains of what had once been a young woman. He tried to remain detached and clinical, but this one was difficult. Not only had the woman been young, but she had all the signs of having been tortured and sexually assaulted.

He barely noticed the cold wind blowing down from the east arm of Grand Traverse Bay as he mentally catalogued the numerous cuts, bruises and a few wounds that looked like they might be bite marks. There wasn’t a single article of clothing on the body or anywhere in the vicinity. The woman lay on her back, her legs crossed at the ankle and her arms folded across her chest. Despite the modest pose, Lance could see deep cuts on her breasts and the insides of her thighs. Her right ankle was crossed over the left making the foot clearly visible. Her right pinky toe was missing.

Let me know when you’re ready for my guys to bag her. Dr. Sandra Wilson from the County Medical Examiner’s Office had completed her preliminary exam and the forensic investigators had gone over the area. But the Traverse County Sheriff George Dickson had insisted the body be left where it was until the agent arrived.

Lance straightened his long body in one fluid motion, never taking his eyes off the body. Any thoughts on how long she’s been here? According to the Sheriff, a jogger had called just after dawn. He was out with his dog for an early morning run when the dog had discovered the body.

I’ll have to get her back to the morgue to be sure, but given the animal and insect activity and weather conditions, I’d say she was dumped here maybe two or three days ago.

He waved a hand toward her feet. Do you think the toe was pre- or postmortem?

By the look of it, I’d say she was still alive at the time, but was killed shortly after the toe was removed. I’ll have a better timeline for you once I get her on the table.

Lance finally looked away from the body and attempted a weak smile at Sandra. Okay. I can take a hint. Or two. I’ll let you load her and get her back to the morgue. Let me know when you plan to do the autopsy. I’d like to sit in.

Sure. I’ll try to get to it right away.

He started walking back toward the small parking lot at the entrance to the park that boasted several acres of walking and jogging trails intertwined with lots of evergreens and deciduous trees. The woman’s body had been dumped no more than twenty feet from the nearest trail, but a large fir tree blocked her from view of anyone on the trail. If not for the dog, the jogger would have gone right past her without ever realizing she was there.

Lance walked over to the Sheriff who was leaning against his cruiser smoking a cigarette. He stubbed it out and put the butt in the trash as Lance strode toward him. The deep scowl on the Sheriff’s face made the man look ten years older than the mid-fifties Lance knew him to be.

I thought you quit smoking?

I did. The Sheriff’s voice held disgust that Lance suspected was more about the body than falling off the wagon.

Do you know who she is? Lance asked the Sheriff.

The man heaved a sigh and ran a weathered hand through a head of thick, mostly grey hair. Yeah. She was reported missing about a week ago, by her sister who lives in Wisconsin. It took me a few minutes to realize who she was, but I’m sure she’s Marilee Benson.

The two men were quiet for a moment as their eyes tracked the progress of the techs from the ME’s Office as they carried the body bag down the trail to the van waiting in the parking lot thirty feet away. The slamming of the van’s rear doors broke the spell and Lance resumed the conversation with Sheriff Dickson. You said you had a similar case a while back?

Yeah. Three weeks ago, on the sixth. Allison Garvey. Nineteen. Found a few miles down the road at Nestler’s Park. Similar set up with trails and trees. Both women attended Grand Traverse State University. Allison was a freshman and Marilee was a sophomore. Both had dark wavy hair and brown eyes. Both trim and pretty. The wounds look almost identical, including the missing right pinky toe. We’ll have to wait for the autopsy, of course, but it looks like the same killer to me, so I figured it was better to get you on board sooner rather than later.

Allison Garvey. Lance stared at his computer screen. The smiling face of the young woman seemed to look back at him. She had shoulder length dark wavy hair and a spark of mischief in her big brown eyes. She was a freshman at Grand Traverse State University and her roommate had initially reported her missing four and a half weeks ago. The last anyone heard from her or saw her was Friday, October 23rd. Allison had planned to go home for the weekend, so her roommate didn’t wonder about her until late afternoon on Monday. Her parents thought she had changed her mind and decided not to come home for the weekend. Consequently, Allison had been missing for several days before the police were contacted.

Marilee Benson was a similar story. She lived off campus in a studio apartment above a garage. She didn’t own a car and a lamp had been left on when she’d last been home, so the landlady—who lived in the main house—assumed she was home. When Marilee’s sister from Wisconsin hadn’t gotten a response to several voicemails she’d left Marilee over the course of four or five days, she asked the landlady to check on Marilee.

There had been no signs of struggle or anything unusual or out of place. The door was locked and a lamp was on—presumably so she didn’t walk into a dark apartment. Her book bag and purse were gone, so whatever had happened to her began somewhere other than her apartment. The missing person’s report filed with the Traverse City Sheriff’s Office, listed Friday, November 13th as the last time anyone remembered seeing Marilee.

Sheriff Dickson had been right. The two women looked very similar. He really hoped there wouldn’t be a third.

Chapter Two

Monday, November 30th

9:00 a.m.

Mandy Spinnett absently brushed wayward strands back toward the French braid from which they had escaped. She was standing in the large reception hall on the campus of Grand Traverse State University. She wore a campus security uniform of black pants and a light blue button down shirt with the GTSU emblem high on the right sleeve. Her utility belt still felt half empty to her, because it didn’t hold a gun like the one she’d worn as a Pendant Cove Sheriff’s Deputy.

It seemed like a lifetime ago now. And, in a way, it was. Her life was divided into two parts: Before the Shooting and After the Shooting. She had been shot in the line of duty in September and nearly died. It had taken almost two months and a lot of physical and psychological therapy to get her back to a point where she could go back out into the world.

She wasn’t sure if she’d ever be able to be a real cop again. She was only sure that right now being a Campus Cop was the closest she could manage. She had been hired by GTSU and had started two weeks ago. So far, things were going okay. Of course, students had been gone half of the previous week for the Thanksgiving holiday, so things were pretty slow.

The most difficult thing she had encountered so far was an assignment she’d been given last week to work with Tabitha Edwards who was organizing a fundraiser to be held on December 5th. Mandy’s job was to make sure all security arrangements for the event were in place. Which was how she found herself standing in the reception hall, known as the Ballroom, waiting for Ms. Edwards to finish speaking with the head of the catering staff.

Thank you so much for waiting, Ms. Edwards said, breathlessly, as she rushed over to where Mandy stood.

Not a problem. Have you thought about what we discussed before the holiday? The two had put together a bare-bones outline of what kind of security presence the event warranted.

Tabitha flipped through her notes and after a moment said, I think what we discussed will be fine. I don’t anticipate any issues, but it’s always better to be safe than sorry. The biggest concern, of course, is the walk from the parking structure to the Ballroom. The event is being widely publicized and the attendees are primarily wealthy alums and donors. She flipped through a few more pages.

It’s not a long walk from the parking garage and the sidewalks are very well lit. We plan to have campus security officers patrolling the garage and the pathway from there to here. Is there anything else you can think of that we haven’t covered?

Tabitha smiled at Mandy as she closed her notebook. No. I think that about covers it. We’ll talk again Friday unless something comes up before then. You have my cell and email if you need to reach me.

There she is, he thought, watching Tabitha Edwards from across the enormous room. And look who she’s talking to. His eyes tracked Mandy’s progress as she left the reception hall. He was thoughtful for a moment after she disappeared from view, then he swung his attention back to Tabitha.

He was careful to not be obvious, keeping her primarily in his peripheral vision instead. She was perfect. He wanted to hang around and watch her all day, but he needed to get back to work. Reluctantly, he left the ballroom. Soon he’d be able to look his fill.

Have a seat, gentlemen. Damen Brantsen, Head of GTSU campus security, waved a hand indicating the two chairs in front of his desk.

The chairs and the desk looked like Army Surplus castoffs circa 1975. As Lance had suspected, the chair was every bit as uncomfortable as it looked. Based on the stifled groan, Sheriff Dickson’s chair wasn’t any better. Thanks for seeing us, Mr. Brantsen.

Of course. Anything I can do to help. Two of our students being murdered in such a short time period is really bad for enrollment. I’m sure we’d all like this figured out and taken care of as quickly as possible.

Lance’s brows drew together slightly. Right. Enrollment. He let the word hang there for a moment, but the sarcasm was lost on the other man.

Nodding his head solemnly, Brantsen continued as if they were all in agreement as to what the real tragedy was.

Since they needed his cooperation, Lance decided not to press the issue. Next to him, the Sheriff had stiffened at Brantsen’s insensitive statement, but remained silent. It seemed he, too, was inclined to let it go unchallenged.

On the phone earlier, you indicated there are several cameras around campus and that video is downloaded digitally and kept for a few months.

Yes. A few years back, we had a case of ‘he-said she-said’ which could have been settled quickly and easily if there had been video. The Board of Trustees got a bug about it and insisted the system be changed to digital and files kept for a minimum of six months.

The Sheriff spoke for the first time. The chair creaked as he leaned forward slightly. You’re talking about the Tammy Baines case. It was almost an accusation rather than a question.

Again, Brantsen didn’t clue into the sentiment behind the words. Instead, he smiled showing a mouthful of straight white teeth that reminded Lance of Donny Osmond. That’s where the resemblance ended, however. The man was mid to late thirties, several inches shorter than Lance’s own 6’2", limp strawberry blond hair, and a good 20-30lbs overweight. Despite the excess weight, it looked like he might have some muscle under the light blue shirt bearing the University insignia.

He gave the Sheriff a conspiratorial look and a nod. "Yeah. That’s the one. Three months after the supposed altercation, Brantsen made air quotes with his fingers, the girl decided to claim she’d been raped by none other than the Quarterback. It was well known the guy came from money and was on his way to a career as a professional football player. It was just a ploy for money on her part."

Lance could practically feel the anger coming off Sheriff Dickson in waves and sought to divert the conversation back to the reason they were here. So, is it possible for you to email the footage to us or somewhere here we could review it, if you prefer?

Dickson blew out a breath and reached for his phone. He studied the screen for a moment then said, Just got a text from one of my deputies. I need to call him right away. If you’ll both excuse me for a moment. He left the small office in three long strides and, within a minute, the outside door opened and closed.

Mr. Brantsen? Lance said to get the man’s focus off the Sheriff’s hasty departure.

A small frown creased his brow, but it cleared as he brought his eyes back to Lance. Right. The camera footage. We can handle it either way. We have a room here where you could view it or I can email it to you. Either way, I need to know the dates you want to see.

Fortunately, Lance and the Sheriff had already decided on the dates they wanted to see. He wrote the information down for Brantsen and handed him a card which included his email address.

I should be able to get this to you by the end of the day.

Lance shook the damp hand thrust toward him, thanked the campus cop and headed out to find Dickson. He wanted to know who Tammy Baines was and what exactly had happened.

As he opened the outside door, he nearly collided with a woman coming in. She gave a small squeak of surprise and stepped backward about three steps. Lance’s first thought was that it was a good thing the entrance to the small building didn’t have steps leading to the door or he might be helping her off the ground now. His second thought was that she had the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen. Big and brown, trimmed with long, thick lashes.

Sorry, she said once she’d recovered. She looked at him quizzically.

Lance realized he was staring. Shaking himself out of the momentary trance, he said, No. I apologize. I wasn’t paying any attention when I opened the door. He looked over her attire. You work for campus security?

Yes. She didn’t show any sign she might elaborate.

How long have you worked here?

She hesitated a fraction, then said, Two weeks.

So not long enough to have been here when Tammy Baines was raped. Her opinion of security on campus, as well as her impression of Brantsen, would likely be unbiased given the short time span. He filed that thought away for another time. He put his hand out to her. I’m Special Agent Lance Hastings with the Traverse City FBI Field Office. He wasn’t sure why he was introducing himself to her so formally, but it was out there now with no way to take it back.

She smiled at him as though she knew exactly what he was thinking and shook his hand. I’m Officer Mandy Spinnett with the Grand Traverse State University Campus Police.

He knew she was teasing him. The mischievous glint in her eye had him grinning back at her. It’s very nice to meet you Officer Spinnett. Reluctantly, he released her hand.

And you as well, Agent Hastings. Still smiling, she walked past him as he held the door for her.

Mandy could feel his eyes on her as she walked past him into the building. She could also feel the lingering warmth in her hand where he’d touched her. She kept smiling all the way to her desk. It wasn’t long, however, before her unexpected pleasure was shattered as her boss headed her way.

Lance found the Sheriff leaning against a tree about twenty yards from the building that housed Campus Security and realized he had likely witnessed the encounter with Mandy Spinnett. Her name sounded familiar, but he wasn’t exactly sure why. He pushed thoughts of her to the back of his brain. Right now, he needed to focus on why he and the Sheriff were here.

But first, he wanted to hear the man’s side of what had happened between the tutor and the quarterback.

You want to tell me about Tammy Baines?

Blowing out a pent-up breath, he looked toward the small building and said, Yeah, but not here.

Lance looked around and saw Damen Brantsen watching them through a window. He and the Sheriff headed back to his car.

As soon as their seatbelt buckles snapped into place, the Sheriff started talking. Tammy Baines was a sweet kid. Blond, blue-eyed, girl next door. Smart as a whip. At the time, she was a junior who earned a little extra cash and teaching experience by tutoring other students in math. That’s how she ended up on Clay Maxwell’s radar.

Maxwell? As in Stuart Maxwell?

Dickson sighed heavily. Yeah.

Lance whistled. Brantsen wasn’t kidding when he said the kid came from money.

"No. That part was true. Stuart Maxwell comes from old money that began with logging in the 1800’s. Over the years, descendants have rolled with the times, each generation growing the family fortune in one way or another. Of course, Stuart’s contribution to the family coffers has come primarily from real estate, but he’s also made a lot through a variety of investments. All that’s common knowledge. But did you know he’s a huge contributor to the university?"

Lance thought he was beginning to get the picture. I’m guessing Daddy’s status as a top donor helped Clay slither out of the way of trouble.

You guessed right.

Did you work the case? Lance could tell this matter was somehow personal to him.

No. It was handled by Traverse City cops. Tammy and my youngest daughter were best friends from the time they started kindergarten. A ghost of a smile crossed his lips as a long-ago memory came to mind. But the scowl quickly returned as he continued the story. It was just about five years ago. Even Daddy’s money couldn’t make up for Clay’s grades, so the coach set the boy up with tutors in several subjects. Their sessions were always in the library and one evening, Clay got a little handsy and Tammy walked out. He followed her. It was around 9:30, dark and cold, so not a lot of people around. He dragged her off the sidewalk into a spot that was out of view if anyone did happen by and he raped her.

The car was quiet for several moments. Lance knew there was more to the story, so he patiently waited for Dickson to gather his thoughts and finish it. Finally, the Sheriff cleared his throat, though his voice still had a rough edge to it. For the longest time, she didn’t say anything. She knew Clay’s daddy had money and would spend whatever amount it took to see that Clay stayed out of trouble. She stopped tutoring altogether. Her grades started slipping. She sank into a depression that caused her to ultimately drop out of school. Finally, my daughter Annie, got Tammy to tell her what had happened. Annie came to me, but since it had happened within the city limits, it was outside my jurisdiction. I contacted a friend of mine with the Traverse City Sheriff’s Office and he got Tammy to file a complaint and press charges. But between the length of time that had passed, the complete absence of any physical evidence, and daddy’s money, the whole thing was quickly quashed and hushed up.

Lance blew out a breath. How’s Tammy doing now? He was almost afraid to know the answer. Rape victims often suffered from chronic depression and PTSD. Some became addicted to drugs or alcohol. Others couldn’t hold a job. Some found it difficult just to leave the house and ended up becoming anti-social and reclusive.

She moved to North Carolina to get away from all the reminders and the press hounding her. Annie occasionally gets an email from her. She got a degree in accounting down there and she works for a large company of some kind where nobody pays her any particular attention. For the most part, it seems like she’s doing okay. His voice was heavy with sadness. Better than a lot of rape victims, anyway.

Sounds like she’s doing as well as can be expected under the circumstances. Lance hated it when he said things like that. Not only was it a completely useless comment to offer, but the underlying meaning was that she wasn’t doing well and no matter how much time passed, she would never again be the same person she’d been before the attack.

Yeah, he said gruffly. Then in an obvious attempt to change the subject, he said, So who was female campus cop you were talking with when you left the security office?

Lance was more than happy to shift the conversation away from the rape of Tammy Baines. He had to work to keep the smile out of his voice as he thought about Mandy Spinnett. Just one of the campus cops. She said her name was Mandy Spinnett. He still couldn’t remember how he knew the name.

Slowly, thoughtfully, Dickson said, Does she remind you of anyone? Look like anyone else to you?

Lance spared him a glance before looking back at the road. I don’t think so. Why? Does she look like someone you know?

Kind of. Don’t you think she looks a lot like our vics?

Lance frowned. Now that you mention it, she does have the same build and coloring. He paused for a moment before continuing. With only two, we can’t be sure the killer picked them because of how they looked. Maybe his reasons had more to do with them being students here. Or some other commonality we haven’t discovered yet.

Yeah, you’re right. Speaking of our vics being students at GTSU, did you get the security camera footage?

Yes. Well. Hopefully.

What the hell kind of answer is that? The Sheriff laughed.

Lance chuckled. Brantsen said he’d email it to me this afternoon.

The Sheriff’s smile fell off his face at the mention of the campus cop. Well, let’s hope his word is more reliable than his judgement.

Damen Brantsen sat one oversized butt cheek on the corner of Mandy’s desk and leaned toward her until his face was less than a foot from hers. It was all she could do to keep herself from rolling her chair away from him. His breath smelled strongly of peppermint, as if he’d just brushed his teeth or had a breath mint or something. Just before he spoke, he chewed and she realized the peppermint must be from gum.

I saw you talking to the Fed outside. The two of you looked pretty chummy. What’d he say to you?

He smiled, but Mandy could see it didn’t reach his eyes. Her boss had made several thinly disguised sexual overtures to her since she’d started working here and she wondered if his curiosity stemmed from misplaced jealousy or if there was more to it than that. At the time, she’d been too distracted by Agent Hastings’ green eyes and easy smile. Now, it dawned on her to wonder what a federal agent had been doing here.

Nothing. We bumped into each other going through the door at the same time. We laughed about it and that was it. She hoped he’d let the matter drop and sought to divert his train of thought. What was he doing here anyway?

Damen sniffed and puffed up his heavy chest with perceived importance. Him and the County Sheriff wanted to talk to me about some of the security camera footage.

He made it sound as though they had come here seeking his advice. Mandy thought it more likely they just needed specific footage sent to them. But she was smart enough to keep that opinion to herself. Just then, one of the other campus cops, Jared Walker, came through the door and Mandy took advantage of the man’s entrance. Really? Anything we, she glanced at her co-worker and back to Damen, making sure she spoke loud enough to gain Jared’s attention, "need to know about or look out for while we’re out checking