Mommy May I Page 3

  “Why is she still so mad after so many years? Is it because you still love Helena?” Frankie held her breath, waiting for the answer. As hurt, frustrated, and confused as she was, she hoped her dad did still love her mom. Frankie wouldn’t give up on being part of a family.

  Her dad patted her knee and stood up. “You’re an incurable romantic, my girl. But I think it’s time we both got some sleep.”

  Stepping outside her room, he paused and without turning to face her, said, “I’m glad you’ll be spending more time with your mom. It’s hard on me, because of everything I’ve put you through. I don’t want to see you hurt any more.” Frankie could’ve sworn he was crying. “You have a right to explore a relationship together. I pray she can be the mother to you that Leeza wasn’t.” He shut the door behind him.

  Frankie cuddled Stuart and said, “Know what, Stu? I hope so, too. But how can you be someone’s mother after so many years?” She held the stuffed animal out in front of her. In her best Robert Stack voice, she said, “And that, my friend, is another unsolved mystery.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Once again, FBI Agent Tyler Savoy found himself working around the clock, struggling against what he’d come to regard as evil. He’d seen more than his share of violent acts during his career, some that put slasher movies to shame. Even though he’d witnessed brutally slain corpses and dealt with the bizarre minds of those who’d raped, stolen, and plundered—being an agent with CASKU—The Child Abduction and Serial Killer Unit of the FBI—was his life. Now that Susie was gone, his work was his only focus.

  The face Nick Yamimoto had been reconstructing for Tyler was taking shape and was beginning to appear human. The transformation was remarkable, from the skull that detectives had found in a shallow grave out in the Mojave Desert, to what Tyler could now see had at one time been that of a young woman.

  Nick’s office was filled with many other clay formations, as well as sketches of victims and of possible predators. The small, brightly lit office smelled of acrylics and clay, combined with the stink of formaldehyde from several jarred human organs.

  Tyler stared at what was taking shape from the clay Nick had been expertly molding. The victim was young—twenty tops. Tyler thought this one might have died at the hands of someone she knew. Not unusual—a majority of murder victims met their deaths that way.

  Tyler’s intuitive gift—or curse, depending on how one looked at it—was what had led him into this line of work, combined with his own sense of personal loss. It enabled him to tune in to some of the country’s sickest minds. Before Susan had been murdered, he’d never guessed he possessed this so-called gift.

  But from the moment Susan was killed, he knew. Tyler suddenly discovered within himself an innate ability to tune into the evil lurking within the minds of the sick and twisted and almost feel the pain that they caused. He actually thought he sensed the final electrifying slice that had eviscerated his wife. However, he convinced himself that he was a profiler through study rather than gift of spirit. Even though the moment he had begun to have unexplainable hunches and detailed visions and feelings somehow coincided with the day his wife was murdered.

  Susan had been at home, in her bath. She’d been four months pregnant on the day that the demon saw fit to disembowel her, slaughtering their baby and leaving his wife to bleed to death.

  Tyler had had a bad feeling all day about leaving her, but he was needed in the city on an ongoing investigation involving a large drug ring that was also responsible for several murders.

  At that time, he’d been a homicide detective. But after her murder, he knew his destiny was to track down the hunters of this world. He’d specifically chosen the serial killer unit. For him, it was more than avenging his wife’s death and that of their unborn child.

  It took nine months and three days to find her killer. Tyler had tried to worm his way into the investigation, but it was difficult as he was a family member. But he’d bellowed enough to make the detectives pay attention and was finally allowed to review everything they’d done to find Susie’s killer.

  It was a tip from an unknown source that had led the police to Samuel Paul Nelson. They’d staked out a woman’s house where they thought Nelson might be headed. Sure enough, he was there and very nearly succeeded in murdering his fifth victim, but they had arrived in time to save her and arrest Nelson. Forensics discovered a DNA match with Nelson’s blood found under Susan’s fingernails. Samuel Paul Nelson was now on death row in California, awaiting lethal injection.

  Tyler realized why this current Jane Doe case had him so focused. This asshole reminded him of Nelson. They both had an overpowering need to dominate their victims. Nelson, however, had never been acquainted with the vics; he chose women who fit his profile, then convinced himself that they should belong to him. He followed them for days, until he finally decided to kill them.

  Nelson believed that he had a harem waiting for him in the afterworld consisting of those he’d sent there, including Susan. But this new killer knew the young woman he’d strangled to death. Tyler was convinced of that, and that was where the killers differed.

  “So what do you think?” Nick asked.

  The scientist was tops in forensic reconstruction, a genius of a man. Tyler liked and respected Nick.

  “I think he knew her, and she isn’t his first. Or his last.”

  Nick listened, his eyes darkening. “What makes you say that?”

  “A feeling. And that she was found in the desert. It fits a particular profile. One we have to consider.”

  “But wouldn’t a desert burial suggest this perp was a transient? Or could your vic have been on the move, too? A hitchhiker turns down his sexual advances, pisses our perp off, and he loses it?”

  “Maybe,” said Tyler, setting the clay back down on the laboratory table. “But, like I said, I’ve got a feeling he’s a pro with an agenda. How much longer until you can get me full features?”

  “Four, five days, if I work my ass off.”

  “Do it. I’ll make sure old Uncle Sam kicks in overtime.”

  “Yeah, right! Then I’m taking a break. I need a smoke and some coffee.”

  “No problem.”

  “Want to join me?”

  “Thanks anyway, but I’ve got some other things to take care of. Call me when she’s ready.”

  “Sure thing.” Nick stepped outside while Tyler sifted through sketches.

  Looking down at possible identifications of the young woman, Tyler was forced back in time by a frightening feeling—the same sensation he’d had when Susan was murdered. Some woman out there, possibly on this very night, was about to meet her maker. Tyler’s nightmare was that he couldn’t pinpoint who or where. He wasn’t into this asshole’s head yet, but like a reel of film, the images had already begun.

  Tyler divined through profiling, and his gut told him that the killer felt his motives justified his actions. He was Tyler’s latest nightmare—one that would consume him until he saw it to the end.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  June 1970

  Before . . .

  “‘Villain!’ I shrieked, ‘Dissemble no more! I admit the deed!—tear up the planks! Here, here!—It is the beating of his hideous heart!’” Uncle James emphasized each word as he read The Tell-Tale Heart to Richard for the second time that evening. Richard applauded, and his uncle bowed.

  “I don’t know why you have to read that garbage to the boy,” Aunt Valerie shouted from the other room.

  Uncle James winked at him. “He likes it, Mother.”

  “Well, then he’s as nuts as you are. I can tell you this much, the Lord don’t like that filthy stuff. He’s condemning your souls to hell, right now.”

  “So be it,” whispered Richard’s uncle.

  “You should be reading Bible verses to him.” Uncle Richard winked at Richard in a conspiratorial kind of way.

  Aunt Valerie rarely referred to Richard by his name, always “him” or “he,” but if she really wanted
to anger Richard, she’d call him Ricky. He found that insulting. Richard also knew that later, when his uncle wasn’t around, his aunt would make him pay for sharing this time with his uncle. She believed that sparing the rod spoiled the child. But Richard didn’t care. It was worth it to spend time with Uncle James.

  “Let’s take a walk, son.”

  “Sure.” Richard knew that his uncle wanted to escape his aunt’s preaching, too.

  “We’re going for a walk, dear.”

  They grabbed their coats and walked into the late night. As much as Richard loved his uncle, he hated his aunt. Not only for the beatings and mean words, but also for the way she treated his uncle. Aunt Valerie ruled their home.

  “I know she’s a horrible woman, Richard. And I know sometimes she’s awful hard on you. But we’ve been married for so long now.”

  “So? Why don’t you leave her? You don’t need her.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why?”

  Uncle James put his arm around Richard as they walked next to the man-made pond Uncle James had built on his five-acre ranch. He sighed and said, “Sometimes people know things about one another, things that they don’t want others to know.”

  The crickets and night bugs reminded Richard of a symphony his mother had taken him to long ago in Portland. The mountain air smelled of pine. “What could be so bad that you’d have to stay with her? What terrible thing could she possibly know about you? I can’t believe you’d ever do anything wrong.”

  “Let’s just say it is, and leave it at that. We all make mistakes.” Uncle James rolled and lit a cigarette. He let Richard have a drag off it.

  Richard couldn’t imagine his uncle having any secret so horrible that he was forced to remain married to the thing back at the house. Uncle James couldn’t hurt a fly. Heck, when he found spiders inside the house, he carefully removed them and set them out in the yard. He was also conscientious about his work: Making the bodies he worked on look peaceful and happy in death and soothing the families of the dead.

  “I’d like to work with you this summer,” Richard said. It had been two summers since his mother died, and he felt ready to see another dead person again. In fact, the idea captivated him.

  “You sure about that? Funeral homes can be sad, dark places at times.”

  “I’m sure. I want to learn the business. You never seem sad or dark.”

  “Of course I am. Why do you think we read from Edgar Allan Poe every night? I’m as macabre as the old horror master himself,” James replied, chuckling.

  Richard wasn’t quite sure what he meant, but he laughed along anyway. Uncle James’s laughter was infectious, like his mother’s had been.

  “Do you believe in God, Uncle James? I mean, Aunt Valerie’s always reading from the Bible and telling you that you’re going to hell. What’s that all about?”

  “She’s pretty devout, that one. But I kinda got my own beliefs. You sort of have to when you’re in my business.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I think we all got a place inside that we think of as Heaven. We see it, feel it, and it’s nice. That’s what happens to us when we go. We finally get to that place and stay there.”

  “Hmmm. That sounds good. But what about God?”

  “Well, I don’t know too much about Him. But I’m sure He exists somewhere. I just like the peaceful Heaven idea, where we go where we want.”

  “Me too. I’m not sure I believe in God.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “He took my mom away from me.”

  “That’s hard stuff.”

  “I miss her.” He sighed. “How come you never visited us?”

  “You know your aunt runs the show around here, and your mother really never wanted us to. Valerie was awfully jealous of your mom, and Elizabeth felt it was best if we all kept our distance. I wanted to visit you, though. I thought about you two a lot. When I didn’t have the wife looking over my shoulder, I’d send your mom some money from time to time.”

  “I wish you could’ve visited,” Richard said, hating his aunt even more for keeping his mother’s only brother away. Richard understood that his aunt was jealous, because she had let him know exactly what she’d thought of his mother.

  “Me too, son. Me, too.” Uncle James flicked the cigarette away. “Anyhow, you want to come to work for me, huh?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “All right,” he said, stopping and putting his hands on his lower back stretching. “Expect to rise and shine with the sun in the morning and get to work.”

  “Really? Oh wow! Thanks, Uncle James. Thank you so much. And I’ll do a good job for you, I promise.”

  “I’m sure you will.”

  They headed back toward the house, Richard filled with excitement about working at his uncle’s funeral home.

  ****

  Richard enjoyed working with his uncle as much as he thought he would. He was learning a lot and not stuck at home with his aunt who, given the chance, would send him to the basement to think about the evil he’d done. It was like being set free from a dismal prison with her as the warden.

  Two weeks had passed since coming to work with Uncle James, and Richard knew that he was a good apprentice. He strolled through the front room where all the caskets were on display, pretending he was the funeral director.

  “Mahogany,” Richard sang out, “this one is pure mahogany. And notice the silk lining. It’s a hundred percent silk.” Richard ran his hand across the soft, fine material as a tingle shimmied down his back. He was practicing for the mourners. “And this one is a good buy. That’s solid pine.” He knocked on it with his knuckles.

  “Richard?” Uncle James walked into the room. Richard jumped, startled and embarrassed. “I’m glad you’re learning all about the caskets.” Uncle James smiled. “It’s a huge part of our business. But today I’d like to teach you something new: We’ll be embalming an elderly woman brought in last night. Come on, son. Follow me.” Richard followed his uncle into the embalming station. “Put this on.” Uncle James handed him a facemask.

  As Uncle James flipped on the lights, Richard’s nose stung in a wonderful way from the formaldehyde. Each nerve in his body came alive, enthusiastic over what his uncle was about to teach him. The room was only large enough to hold a table and the necessary tools for the embalming process.

  “Now, this here is the pump we use to regulate the pressure and flow of mixed water and embalming fluid into the remains,” Uncle James said.

  Richard looked at the pump, but his eyes kept wandering to the white sheet covering the body. He’d seen a few dead people in the past couple of weeks; today he’d actually touch one. Something about that made his stomach stir, but not like he was nauseated.

  “Okay, now in case we’ve got a problem and the formaldehyde becomes a contaminant, you’ll need to get under that shower over there,” Uncle James said pointing to a nozzle against the far end of the wall. “That’ll only happen if I don’t measure my chemicals just so, but it could burn your skin something fierce. So it is always vital to be prepared and cautious.”

  Richard glanced at the anatomy posters. He’d have to study them. Though he hated school, he learned fast. The stigma of being different had stuck to him like insects on a fly strip, and he hadn’t made friends any easier in this town than he had in Oregon.

  Uncle James looked up at the clock on the wall. “Well, let’s get started. We’ve got a busy morning ahead, and I’d like to get the embalming finished before lunch, so we can come back this afternoon to dress her and apply the makeup.”

  “Yes, sir.” The word makeup stirred something deep within Richard, remembering the way his mother always applied her lipstick so flawlessly. He hoped that Uncle James would let him do the lips.

  Uncle James removed the sheet. “Hi, Ruth,” James said stroking back the gray hair from the woman’s pale face that was etched with the lines of time.

  “Did you know her?”

  “No. I know he
r name, and that her family loved her dearly. I like us to get acquainted a bit before I start invading her body. It’s only proper and polite.”

  “Do you think she can see us?” Richard looked heavenward.

  “I don’t know, but if she can, then she knows we’re gonna be as gentle as possible.” James then covered her head with what looked like a swimmer’s cap. He and Richard wore gloves and lab coats. “This is a fairly simple process, son. We use the body’s own circulatory system,” he said. “We use formaldehyde because blood is drained during the process, and the fluid contains dyes to give a pink color to the skin.”

  Richard smelled an offensive odor coming from Ruth. Uncle James took a bottle of disinfectant off the shelf and wet a sponge. He poured some of it into another sponge, handing it to Richard.

  Uncle James pulled the sheet back only to her waist. Her small, shriveled breasts were exposed. Richard shrunk back. His mother’s breasts certainly didn’t look like these.

  “It’s all right. She won’t bite.” Uncle James sponged her down. Richard followed his lead, and soon the cleanser's strong fumes replaced Ruth's putrid stench. Touching her body was strange. She was so very cold.

  “It is important that this procedure be done with care,” Uncle James began, sounding like a professor. “If one does this step carefully, the next can be done smoothly. If the body isn’t disinfected, then the embalming procedure will not work. It also prevents the spread of germs.”

  When Uncle James pulled the sheet completely off, Richard tried hard not to look at the woman’s private parts, but couldn’t help it as he watched his uncle cleanse the area. Richard wondered what it was like to touch that private place without the sponge, and then tried to erase that thought from his mind.

  Once they’d finished cleaning Ruth, Uncle James placed embalming fluid and water inside the pump. “It usually takes about four gallons to finish the job.” Uncle James carefully measured his liquids, and then hooked Ruth up to an IV.