“What about this one?” Jack asked.
Sheldon looked down at the woman, pity in his eyes. “BTK,” he said. “Bind, torture, kill.”
“God Almighty,” Cole said from the doorway. He must have come in while Sheldon had been explaining. “He’s moving fast.”
“He’s got a timeline,” Jack said.
“Let’s get her bagged and loaded and back to the funeral home,” I said. “We need to run this guy to ground before he strikes again. He killed four people yesterday. And today is already halfway over.”
Chapter Thirteen
“We could really use Carver on this,” I told Jack as we watched Lily and Sheldon drive away with Jody Burkett.
“Yeah, well, we’ve got the younger version,” Jack said. “He’s running deep backgrounds on all the victims to see if there’s a connection between any of them. Let’s go talk to Bruno Corelli and let Doug see what he can dig up. All I can think is that every hour that passes makes it more likely he’s killed again.”
I’d been having those thoughts too, and it was those thoughts that got in the way of logical thinking.
“Betsy said Bruno Corelli works as a supervisor at the waste management company in King George,” Jack said. “He should be there now.”
“I guess acting didn’t pay off like he thought it would,” I said.
Jack grunted and turned onto Highway 3—also known as Kings Highway—and I pulled out my phone to read more about the copycat murders, and why our killer would have picked these specific serial killers to emulate.
A beam of sunlight glared off my screen and it took me a second to realize what it was. I looked up and saw the rain had stopped, and the sun was attempting to make an appearance.
“Oh, thank you, Jesus,” I said. “I was starting to worry we should’ve been looking for an ark to jump on.”
“Forecast says the rain is supposed to clear up,” Jack said. “No telling what the mess is going to look like once the water recedes a little. Reports coming in from the guys are that there’s been quite a bit of vehicle damage, and several homes along the shallow banks that took on water.”
“What about your parents?” I asked.
“They’re good. They’ve been busy in the greenhouses getting seeds germinated so they’re ready to plant in the spring. Mom says we should come to dinner next Sunday.”
I loved Jack’s mom. She’d been more like a mother to me growing up than my own had. Jack’s parents owned one of the remaining three hundred tobacco farms in the state of Virginia. The Lawson farm had been in his family for generations, and they’d held on to it with everything they had once regulations and taxes and federal restrictions had started making things more difficult to survive.
“Why would he copycat?” I asked, my thoughts going back to the killer. “This is not a short notice operation. Victorian week obviously played a part. He waited for the right time so it would fit the scenario he wanted to imitate. And that was the starting pistol. You know he’s got a playbook. The crimes he wants to commit and how he wants to do it.”
“He copycats because he doesn’t see himself as having the capability of being an original,” Jack said. “He wants to show us what he can do—perform for us in a way—but he’s got low self-esteem. He wants recognition and affirmation. Someone like that screams mommy or daddy wounds.”
“Perform,” I said softly.
I called Doug and put him on speaker so Jack could hear too.
“I just got started,” Doug said by way of greeting. “Give a guy a break. Pizza delivery is back up and running by the way. I needed some fuel.”
“Tell me about Jody Burkett,” I said.
“Already have her pulled up,” he said around a mouth full of pizza. “Jody Pickering Burkett. She’s a Newcastle native. Sixty-four years old. Married to Richard Burkett for forty years before he passed away from cancer a few years back. She’s a retired teacher. Looks like the husband was a financial adviser.”
“What did she teach and where?” I asked, looking at Jack. I could tell he was already a step ahead of me.
“Let’s see,” Doug said. “Newcastle high school. She taught theater.”
“Thanks, Doug,” Jack said. “See if any of our other victims had a connection to Jody Burkett.”
“Will do,” Doug said. “How long are Plank and Chen going to babysit me?”
“Until we can make sure the serial killer on the loose is tired of looking in our windows,” Jack said. “We’re making a stop and then we’ll be back home tonight. Be good for the babysitters.”
Doug snickered before he hung up.
“So the common thread is theater,” I said. “Juliet is an actress. A frequent face at the Curtain Call. She’s chosen by the killer because she fits the Jack the Ripper narrative. A woman of ill repute. And the killer dresses like the master. He leaves the murder weapon because he doesn’t need it again. Just like he told you in the letter. He won’t kill like that again.”
Jack nodded in agreement and said, “Then we’ve got the Son of Sam at the movie theater. He’s comfortable at the theater. Those are his people. That’s his home and he keeps going back to it. I believe the victims were completely random, and he was just fulfilling his part in the play. He became David Berkowitz, just like he’d become Jack the Ripper. Doug told us the shooter had curly hair and weird sideburns. No facial hair like the witness saw for Jack the Ripper.”
“And then he left the gun in the glove box because he doesn’t need it anymore,” I said. “And then somewhere in between Jack the Ripper and Son of Sam, he becomes the BTK Killer.” I was scrolling through my phone, digging for information, and there was one thing that stuck out.
“Have you checked the mail today?” I asked.
“It still hadn’t come by the time we left,” Jack said. “I’ve got Plank and Chen looking out for it.”
“All three of the original killers sent letters to the police,” I said. “He’s got a whole cast of characters in whatever warped play he’s created in his mind. And it looks like we’re on the playbill.”
Jack’s lips pressed together in a tight line and he pressed a button on the steering wheel. “Call Plank,” he commanded, and the phone started to ring.
“Sheriff,” Plank said.
“Has the mail come yet?” Jack asked.
“Yes, sir,” Plank said. “It just arrived. Chen and I both looked through, but there was nothing but ads and flyers. Nothing handwritten or addressed specifically to you.”
“Okay, thanks,” Jack said and disconnected. And then he immediately dialed the next number and Betsy Clement came on the line.
“Sheriff’s office,” she said. “Betsy Clement speaking. How can I help you?”
“Betsy, it’s Jack. Has the mail come today?”
“Not yet. Is there anything I should be looking for?”
“Look for any letters addressed to me,” he said. “It’ll be handwritten. Tell whoever is going through the mail to put on gloves first. We’re just pulling up to the waste plant in King George to talk with a person of interest. I’ll touch base once we’re done here.”