Page 20 of The Murder Between Us
“Education.”
For the first half hour, Cole stood in the yard, taking in the house and its surroundings. The Fosters’ home was secluded, private, and set back from not just the county roads but the small town of Alleman itself. The only way in via road was the gravel drive they’d bounced down. Hardly a silent approach, especially late at night and in a car. Had the killer walked in?
How much would a strange car stand out in Alleman?
Was it possible to come at the house through the cornfields? He’d have to look at the satellite photos, the aerial maps. So far, the fields seemed to stretch forever.
The garage was an add-on to the house, not part of the original construction. It had a single swing door, unpowered. Cole pulled on the handle, lifting and raising the door. The springs were well oiled and taken care of. Used frequently. No squeaking or creaking. The killer could easily have gotten in silently.
And from there, he’d gone right through the door and into the house. The door in from the garage was open, handle and frame dusted black with fingerprint powder. Bootied crime scene techs had tracked the same powder through the doorway and onto the wooden planks of the laundry room and kitchen.
“No forced entry. The killer didn’t have to break in.” Noah followed Cole, almost too close.
“This isn’t the type of place where people lock their doors. Or it wasn’t.” Cole moved from the kitchen to the living room. The killer hadn’t spent time in either. He’d been focused. He’d been on a mission.
Down the hallway. There were two bedrooms across from each other. One was Kimberly’s, and the other had been turned into a sunny reading room. Books lined the walls, piled in leaning stacks around a pair of worn side chairs. Nothing had been disturbed in there.
Kimberly’s room was a different story.
Crime scene techs had been over every inch of the room. Fingerprint powder and luminol were on almost every surface. There were still evidence placards on the floors and indicator stickers on the walls, pointing out smudged shoe prints—unusable, he could tell—and a palm print on the remains of the mirrored door of Kimberly’s closet. Her bed had been stripped, the comforter and sheets taken by the police. He’d read the report last night: no forensic evidence recovered. No hairs, no DNA, not even any trace evidence from anyone other than Kimberly.
“He strangled her to death in here. On her bed.” Noah nodded as Cole spoke. He stayed by the door, out of Cole’s way. “And there were no defensive wounds on her. He surprised her in her sleep.” He thought back to the autopsy report, the photos. The viciousness of the bruising around her throat, the vivid near blackness of her neck. “She was dead in less than a minute. She didn’t have time to fight back.”
“That’s what we think. We think he was on her so fast and so violently she couldn’t react. He came here and killed her. He didn’t waste any time.”
“It’s not the stalker. If it were him, he’d confront her. There’s be an emotional scene. If he attacked her, he’d have strung it out and made a production out of it. He would have made sure she knew shecausedhim to kill her. This, what happened to her here, isn’t that.”
Noah stayed quiet.
“Where’s Frank’s bedroom?”
“Other side of the house. He’d fallen asleep on the couch. We found tissues, the remote, and a bottle of beer half finished. The alcohol and the cold medicine he was taking must have made him drowsy.”
“If she was killed that quickly, how did he hear what was happening? Especially since he was medicated and drinking. Was any of her furniture knocked over? Did she manage to kick over a lamp? Hit the wall?”
“No. Not that we found.” Noah shook his head as he stared at the floor. One hand grasped the doorframe, as if he was steadying himself. “Dads… They feel things, you know? I think he knew something was going on. He came to check—” Noah shrugged as he picked at a smear of fingerprint powder.
Cole blinked. “Setting aside parental superpowers—”
“Not superpowers. Intuition.”
“There has to be a reason Frank got up to check on her.” Cole spun in a slow circle, taking in Kimberly’s bedroom. The size, the shape. The position of the door. He stared at Noah. Noah looked away. “Frank came down the hallway and stood there, right where you are. He was silhouetted by the hall light. Kimberly’s room was dark. Frank came in to check on her, and the killer pounced. He was there, behind you, in the corner.” He pointed to the corner behind the door, nearest the sliding closet doors. “He had Kimberly’s belt, and he wrapped it around Frank’s neck from behind. The force of that pulled Frank back. He fell and tried to grab the closet door”—Cole pointed to the smeared palm print, the shattered mirror—“to get back up. But the killer wouldn’t let go. Frank was a lot bigger than Kimberly, but not big enough to overpower someone strangling him with a belt from behind in the dark.” Cole hesitated. “Was the light on or off when police arrived?”
“On.”
Cole nodded slowly. “He was on his knees, struggling to breathe as the killer strangled him to death, and he died staring at his daughter’s corpse. Because the killer turned on the light.”
“Jesus,” Noah whispered.
“That was his punishment for being there. He wasn’t supposed to be home. This killer is highly controlled. He needs total control over his scenes. For that kind of control, he needs isolation. He needs these girls to be alone when he strikes.”
“Why didn’t the killer leave, then? If he saw Frank was home, why didn’t he leave?”
“He didn’t know Frank was here. He wasn’t supposed to be. He expected him to be at work. And, once the killer had decided that was the night and Kimberly was his victim, there was no changing his mind. He was committed. He had to act.” Cole shook his head. “This is a lust murderer.”
“There’s no sexual assault.”
“This isn’t a sexual paraphilia that’s driving him. Or not overtly. His desires are about domination and control, about the taking of life. He strangles these girls face to face. He watches them die, inches away from their faces. It’s the moment of death that he craves. Seeing that. That’s why he doesn’t draw their deaths out.” He frowned. “Did the medical examiner swab for DNA on any of the girls’ faces? Their lips, specifically?”
