“That’s fine.” I smiled.
Meanwhile, Brett walked up to us. Dread filled his eyes. “We have a problem.”
Alexander frowned. “What?”
“We can’t find Vernon. After his math course, he disappeared.”
Rage covered Alexander’s face. “Goddamn it.”
Chapter 30
Chaos
Alexander
We spent the rest of the day interviewing Brie. In the end, she confirmed what we suspected. Vernon helped her Sunday School Teacher Mrs. Washington. During class, he played with her the most, helping her sing songs about Jesus and even getting her extra crayons to color the scripture lesson activity page for the day.
According to Brie, Vernon had been her best friend. So, when he showed up in the yard this past Sunday, she didn’t think twice about rushing to him. Vernon promised to take her to get ice cream and that they would surprise her mother with a sweet treat too. He swore it would be quick and that the ice cream man was just around the corner.
Trusting in her friend, Brie walked with him to his car. They drove away, talking about her favorite tv shows. Ten minutes later, Brie realized they were leaving town. She cried. He assured her everything would be okay.
Vernon brought her to the old church after that. Scared, she followed him in. He stayed with her for a little, explaining that she had to stay there, or a bad man would get her.
After Brie’s interview, Georgia Superior Court Judge Rochelle West granted the warrant to search Vernon’s bedroom and monitor his cellphone. Any evidence to the Fullbrooke Six had to be in that bedroom due to the Judge not allowing other parts of the house to be searched.
A warrant was only judicial permission to search a particular place. In order to get one, we needed probable cause and a reasonable belief that evidence of a crime would be located there.
Everyone was being careful. For these past months, the theory was that a white man kidnapped and killed the girls. Now with Vernon as our suspect, a shitstorm would rise. He was Pastor Miller’s grandson. As a teenager, he spent his free time helping at Sunday school and working in Fanny’s restaurant. He had perfect grades and not one smudge of bad discipline on his record. He was a perfect kid, model student, and excellent citizen.
And now the FBI would be hauling him away.
But first, we have to find him.
“Let’s go.” I rushed out of the office, holding the warrant in my hand.
My agents and I wore bulletproof vests with FBI written in yellow on the front. The police hurried with us. Most of the force would assist.
Haven and I jumped in the car.
I wasted no time, started it, and sped off.
A line of agents and cops followed behind us. It must’ve been over thirty cars heading to the Millers’ house. Adrenaline rushed through me.
I glanced at Haven. She sat face forward with a stern expression. This would be her first raid and a difficult one. She knew the Millers well. She’d played with their kids and ate Sunday dinner at their table many days. They would take this as an insult and be heartbroken from her involvement.
Although Brie named Vernon in taking her, he could get a smart lawyer and come up with a good defense. Vernon told Brie that he was protecting her from a bad man. Since she hadn’t been harmed, a good defense lawyer would argue that he felt the need to protect her.
We must find the connection of Vernon and the Fullbrooke Six. He has to have souvenirs in that room somewhere.
All of us assumed it would be around the paintings somehow. Those would be the first to be taken back to the lab for complete forensics evaluation.
Souvenirs were the most important part of a serial killer’s amusement. Once he killed, the only way he could enjoy the victim’s death again was through the objects left behind.
All arrested serial murderers had them. Australian killer Ivan Milat took out seven people and buried them in a forest. When he was finally caught, authorities found a trove of stolen camping supplies—sleeping bags, clothes, equipment, and tents. Ted Bundy was the creepiest of the bunch. Bundy liked to take off his victim’s heads and put them on display in his apartment. Sometimes, he would sleep next to their headless corpses. Charles Albright kept his victim’s eyeballs. Jeffrey Dahmer preserved the heads and genitals. By the time authorities caught him, he had a freezer full of body parts. And the craziness went on. Many kept the victims’ jewelry, shoes, driver’s license.
All souvenirs resulted in evidence to take them down.
Later, some killers became wise to that fact and tried to keep their souvenirs less incriminating. Russian criminal Alexander Pichushkin took out 49 people. His goal was to kill 64 in total, the same number of squares on a chessboard. After he was finally arrested, police found a chessboard in his home with murder dates scrawled into the squares.
Now we had Vernon. So far, all we knew was that he painted the day of his kill—the religious holiday that he chose to take the girl on. But would that be enough to convict him? And was there more evidence lurking within this creepy teen’s bedroom?
We’ll find out.
When we pulled up to the Miller’s home, all the police cars surrounded it. Pastor Miller stood in the yard talking to Mrs. Mable and his wife. Perhaps they had heard the news about the cops searching for Vernon.
Did he contact you yet?
Haven muttered, “Fuck.”
“Do you want to stay back?”
“No. I can’t. I have to be in that bedroom and help with the search.” She held a grim expression as she took her gun out. “I just feel bad for the Pastor and his wife.”
“Think of Brie and all the Fullbrooke Six.” I grabbed my gun too.
“You’re right.”
“I know. This is hard, but we saved Brie’s life and others. Don’t forget that.”
We jumped out of the car. Other cops and agents followed with their guns out, just in case Vernon was near. Most agents swarmed around the house, rushing to the back and sides.
Raising his hands in the air, Pastor Miller frowned at our approach. Mrs. Mable and Mrs. Miller raised their hands too.
Here we go.
I exhaled and continued their way.
My heart ached. I had just broke bread with them on Sunday. They had finally welcomed me into their community—their home—and now I came with the police and guns drawn.
Dear God, I can’t be wrong on this, or I’ll never forgive myself.
Neighbors came out of their homes, probably to witness what was going on. News of our raiding the Millers’ house would hit every ear by this evening. Only God knew what people would do with the information. Some may be divided. Others might lose their sense of reality from the truth. A teenage serial killer in their church, volunteering around their children? Regardless, panic would rise, and things in Fullbrooke Baptist Church would never be the same.
“Hello, Pastor Miller.” I held the paper in my left and the gun in my right. “We have a search warrant to check Vernon’s bedroom.”
Pastor Miller lowered his hands and took the warrant. “There’s no way in God’s sweet Earth Vernon had anything to do with this.”
“No, Jesus,” Mrs. Miller cried. “My grandson wouldn’t do it. Haven, tell them! Vernon wouldn’t do anything like that.”
Haven’s bottom lip quivered, but she remained quiet.