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Once Bound
CHAPTER FIVE
For a long moment, Riley stood staring at the body on the tracks. She’d seen corpses mangled in all kinds of horrifying ways. Even so, this victim presented a uniquely shocking spectacle. The woman had been beheaded cleanly by the wheels of the train, almost as if by a guillotine’s blade.
Riley was surprised that the woman’s headless body seemed unscathed by the train that had passed over it. The victim was bound tightly with duct tape, her hands and arms taped to her sides, and her ankles taped together. Clothed in what had been an attractive outfit, the body was twisted in a desperate, writhing position. Where her neck was severed, blood was spattered on the crushed stones, the wooden ties, and the rail. The head had been thrown some six or seven feet down the embankment along the tracks. The woman’s eyes and mouth gaped up at the sky in an expression of frozen horror.
Riley saw several people standing around the body, some of them wearing uniforms, some not. Riley figured they were a mix of local police and railroad cops. A man in a uniform came toward Riley and her colleagues.
He said, “You’re the FBI folks, I take it. I’m Jude Cullen, Deputy Chief of Railroad Police for the Chicago region – ‘Bull’ Cullen, folks call me.”
He sounded proud of the nickname. Riley knew from her research that “Bull” was general slang for a police officer on the railroad. Actually, in the railroad police organization they held the titles of Agent and Special Agent, much like the FBI. This one apparently preferred the sound of the more generic term.
“It was my idea to get you guys here,” Cullen continued. “I hope the trip proves to be worth it. The sooner we can get the body away from here, the better.”
As Riley and her colleagues introduced themselves, she looked Cullen over. He seemed remarkably young and had an exceptionally muscular physique, his arms bulging below the uniform’s short sleeves and the shirt stretched tight across his chest.
The nickname “Bull” suited him pretty well, she thought. But Riley always found herself put off rather than attracted by men who obviously spent many hours in a gym to look this way.
She wondered how a muscle-bound guy like Bull Cullen actually found time for much of anything else. Then she noticed that he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. She figured that his life must be about his job and working out, and not much else.
He appeared to be good-natured and not especially shocked by the unusually grisly nature of the crime scene. Of course, he’d been here for a few hours now – long enough to get somewhat numbed to it. Even so, the man immediately struck Riley as rather vain and shallow.
She asked him, “Have you identified the victim?”
Bull Cullen nodded.
“Yeah, her name was Reese Fisher, thirty-five years old. She lived right near here in Barnwell, where she worked as the local librarian. She was married to a chiropractor.”
Riley looked up and down the tracks. This stretch was curved so that she couldn’t see very far in either direction.
“Where is the train that ran over her?” she asked Cullen.
Cullen pointed and said, “About a half mile down there, exactly where it stopped.”
Riley noticed an obese, black-uniformed man who was crouching next to the body.
“Is that the medical examiner?” she asked Cullen.
“Yeah, let me introduce you to him. This is the Barnwell coroner, Corey Hammond.”
Riley crouched down beside the man. She sensed that, in contrast to Cullen, Hammond was still struggling to contain his shock. His breathing was coming in gasps – partly due to his weight, but also, she suspected, from revulsion and horror. He’d surely never seen anything like this in his jurisdiction.
“What can you tell us so far?” Riley asked the coroner.
“No sign of sexual assault that I can see,” Hammond said. “That’s consistent with the other coroner’s autopsy of the victim four days ago, over near Allardt.”
Hammond pointed to mangled pieces of wide silvery tape around the woman’s neck and shoulders.
“The killer bound her hand and foot, then taped her neck onto the rail and immobilized her shoulders. She must have struggled like mad trying to get loose. But she didn’t stand a chance.”
Riley turned toward Cullen and asked, “Her mouth wasn’t gagged. Would anybody have heard her screaming?”
“We don’t think so,” Cullen said, pointing toward some trees. “There are some houses through those woods, but they’re out of earshot. A couple of my guys went from door to door asking if anybody had heard anything or had any idea what had been happening at the time of the murder. No one did. They found out all about it on TV or on the Internet. They’ve been instructed to stay away from here. So far, we haven’t had any trouble with gawkers.”
Bill asked, “Did it look like anything was stolen from her?”
Cullen shrugged.
“We don’t think so. We found her purse right here beside her, and she still had identification and money and credit cards. Oh, and a cell phone.”
Riley studied the body, trying to imagine how the killer had managed to get the victim into this position. Sometimes she could get a powerful, even uncanny, feeling of the killer just by tuning in to her surroundings at a crime scene. Sometimes it almost seemed that she could get into his thoughts, know what was on his mind as he committed the murder.
But not right now.
Things were too jangled here, with all these people milling about.
She said, “He must have subdued her somehow before he bound her up like this. What about the other corpse, the victim that was killed earlier? Did the local coroner find any drugs in her system?”
“There was flunitrazepam in her bloodstream,” Coroner Hammond said.
Riley glanced at her colleagues. She knew what flunitrazepam was, and she knew that Jenn and Bill did as well. Its trade name was Rohypnol, and it was commonly known as the date rape drug or as “roofies.” It was illegal, but all too easy to buy on the streets.
And it certainly would have subdued the victim, rendering her helpless although possibly not fully unconscious. Riley knew that flunitrazepam had an amnesiac effect once it wore off. She shuddered to realize …
It might well have worn off right here – just before she died.
If so, the poor woman would have had no idea how or why such a terrible thing had happened to her.
Bill scratched his chin as he looked down at the body.
He said, “So maybe this started off date-rape style, with the killer slipping the drug into her drink at a bar or a party or something.”
The coroner shook his head.
“Apparently not,” he said. “There wasn’t a trace of the drug in the other victim’s stomach. It must have been given to her as an injection.”
Jenn said, “That’s odd.”
Deputy Chief Bull Cullen looked at Jenn with interest.
“Why so?” he asked.
Jenn shrugged slightly.
She said, “It’s a little hard to imagine, that’s all. Flunitrazepam doesn’t take effect right away, no matter how it’s delivered. In a date-rape situation, that typically doesn’t matter. The unsuspecting victim maybe has drinks with her soon-to-be assailant for a little while, starts feeling woozy without knowing quite why, and pretty soon she becomes helpless. But if our killer stabbed her with a needle, she’d immediately know she was in trouble, and she’d have had a few minutes to resist before the drug took effect. It just doesn’t sound … very efficient.”
Cullen smiled at Jenn – a little flirtatiously, Riley thought.
“It makes sense to me,” he said. “Let me show you.”
He walked behind Jenn, who was markedly shorter than he was. He started reaching around her neck from behind her. Jenn stepped away.
“Hey, what are you doing?” Jenn said.
“Just demonstrating. Don’t worry, I’m not really going to hurt you.”
Jenn scoffed and kept her distance from him.
“Damn right, you’re not,” she said. “And I’m pretty sure I know what you’ve got in mind. You’re thinking the killer used some kind of choke hold.”
“That’s right,” Cullen said, still smiling. “Specifically, a so-called blood choke.”
He twisted his arm to illustrate his point.
“The killer approached her unexpectedly from behind, then crooked his arm like this around the front of her neck. The victim could still breathe, but her carotid arteries were shut off completely, cutting off the blood flow to the brain. The victim lost consciousness within seconds. Then it was easy for the killer to administer an injection that rendered her helpless for a longer period.”
Riley easily sensed the friction between Cullen and Jenn. Cullen was obviously a classic “mansplainer” whose attitude toward Jenn was condescending as well as flirtatious.
Jenn clearly didn’t like him one bit, and Riley felt the same. The man was shallow, all right, with a poor sense of appropriate behavior when it came to dealing with a female colleague – and an even worse sense of how to behave at a murder scene.
Still, Riley had to admit that Cullen’s theory was sound.
He might be obnoxious, but he wasn’t stupid.
In fact, he might be genuinely helpful to work with.
That is, if we can stand to be around him, Riley thought.
Cullen stepped off the tracks and down the slope and pointed at a space where the ground had been taped off.
He said, “We’ve got some tire tracks, from where he drove down here after turning off the main road back at the railroad crossing. They’re big tracks – obviously some kind of off-road vehicle. Here are some footprints too.”
Riley said, “Have your people take pictures of these. We’ll send them to Quantico and have our technicians run them through our database.”
Cullen stood with his arms akimbo for a moment, taking in the scene with what seemed to Riley almost like a sense of satisfaction.
He said, “I’ve got to say, this is a new experience for me and my guys. We’re used to investigating cargo theft, vandalism, collisions, and the like. Murders are few and far between. And something like this – well, we’ve never seen anything like it before. Of course, I guess it’s nothing really special for you FBI folks. You’re used to it.”
Cullen got no reply and he fell silent for a moment. Then he looked at Riley and her colleagues and said, “Well, I don’t want to take too much of your precious time. Just give us a profile, and my team will take it from here. You can fly back home today, unless you really want to spend the night.”
Riley, Bill, and Jenn looked at each other with surprise.
Did he seriously think they could wrap up their work here that quickly?
“I’m not sure what you mean,” Riley said.
Cullen shrugged and said, “I’m sure you’ve figured out something in the way of a profile by now. That’s what you’re here for, after all. What can you tell me?”
Riley hesitated for a moment.
Then she said, “We can give you a few generalizations. Statistically, most murderers who leave the body at the scene have a prior criminal record. Over half of them are between the ages of fifteen and thirty-seven – and over half are African-American, employed at least part time, and have at least a high school education. Some such killers have had prior psychiatric problems, and some have been in the military. But …”
Riley hesitated.
“But what?” Cullen asked.
“Try to understand – none of this is really useful information, at least not at this point. There are always outliers. And our killer is starting to look like one already. For example, the kind of killer we’re talking about usually has some kind of sexual motivation. But that doesn’t seem to be the case here. My guess is that he’s not typical in a lot of ways. Maybe he’s not typical at all. We’ve still got a lot of work cut out for us.”
For the first time since she’d arrived, Cullen’s expression darkened a little.
Riley added, “And I want her cell phone rushed to Quantico. And the other victim’s cell phone as well. Our technicians need to see if they can get any information out of them.”
Before Cullen could reply, his own cell phone buzzed and he scowled.
He said, “I already know who that is. It’s the railroad administrator, wanting to know if he can get the trains moving again. The line has got three freight trains piled up and a passenger train running late. There’s a fresh crew ready to drive away the train that’s still sitting on the tracks. Can we move the body yet?”
Riley nodded and said to the coroner, “Go ahead, get her into your van.”
Cullen turned away and took the call, while the coroner called his people together and got to work with the body.
When Cullen got off the phone, he seemed to be in a genuinely sour mood.
He said to Riley and her colleagues, “So I guess you folks are going to make yourselves at home for a while.”
Riley thought she was starting to understand what was bothering him. Cullen was positively looking forward to solving a sensational case, and he hadn’t expected the FBI to rob him of his thunder.
Riley said, “Look, we’re here at your request. But I think you’ll be needing us – for a while longer anyway.”
Cullen shook his head and shuffled his feet.
Then he said, “Well, we’d all better head on into the Barnwell police station. We’ve got something pretty unpleasant to deal with there.”
Without another word, he turned and headed away.
Riley glanced at the body, which was now being loaded onto a gurney.
She wondered …
More unpleasant than this?
Her mind boggled as she and her colleagues followed Cullen back the way they’d come.
CHAPTER SIX
Jenn Roston was seething as she turned to follow her colleagues away from the crime scene. She trudged through the trees behind Riley and Agent Jeffreys as Deputy Chief Jude Cullen led the way toward the parked vehicles.
“Bull” Cullen, he calls himself, she remembered with contempt.
She was glad to have two people between her and that man.
She kept thinking …
He tried to demonstrate a blood choke on me!
She doubted that he’d been looking for an excuse to grope her – not exactly, anyway. But he sure was looking for a chance to show physical control over her. It was bad enough that he felt the need to mansplain the blood choke hold and its effects to her – as if she didn’t know all about it already.
She thought they were both lucky that Cullen hadn’t actually gotten his arm around her neck. She might not have been able to control herself. Although the man was ridiculously muscular, she would most likely have made short work of him. Of course, that would have been pretty unseemly at a murder scene and would have done nothing to promote good relations among investigators. So Jenn knew it was just as well things hadn’t gotten out of hand.
On top of everything else, now Cullen seemed to be pissed off that Jenn and her colleagues weren’t going away just yet, and that he wasn’t going to hog all the glory of solving the case.
Tough luck, asshole, Jenn thought.
The group emerged from the trees and got into the police van with Cullen. The man said nothing as he drove to the police station and her FBI companions were quiet too. She figured that they, like her, were thinking about the grisly crime scene and Cullen’s comment about having “something pretty unpleasant to deal with” at the station.
Jenn hated riddles, maybe because Aunt Cora was so often cryptic and threatening in her attempts at manipulation. And she also hated living with the sense that something in her past could destroy her present dream-come-true of being an FBI agent.
When Cullen parked the van in front of the police station, Jenn and her colleagues got out and followed him inside. There, Cullen introduced them to Barnwell’s Chief of Police, Lucas Powell, a middle-aged man with a sagging chin.
“Come with me,” Powell said. “I’ve got the guys right in here. My people and I just don’t know how to deal with this kind of thing.”
Guys? Jenn wondered.
And what kind of “thing” did he mean?
Chief Lucas Powell led Jenn, her colleagues, and Cullen straight to the station’s interview room. Inside, they found two men seated at the table, both wearing neon yellow vests. One was lean and tall, an older but vigorous-looking man. The other was about Jenn’s own shorter height, and probably not much older than she was.
They were drinking cups of coffee and just staring at the table.
Powell introduced the older man first, the younger man second.
“This is Arlo Stine, the freight conductor. And this is Everett Boynton, his assistant conductor. When the train stopped, they’re the ones who had to walk back and find the body.”
The two men barely looked up at the group.
Jenn gulped. Surely they must be terribly traumatized.
There definitely was “something pretty unpleasant” to deal with here.
Interviewing these men wasn’t going to be easy. To make matters worse, they weren’t likely to know anything that would help lead to the killer.
Jenn stood back as Riley sat down at the table with the men and spoke in a soft voice.
“I’m awfully sorry you’ve had to deal with this. How are you guys holding up?”
The older man, the conductor, shrugged slightly.
“I’ll be all right,” he said. “Believe it or not, I’ve seen this kind of thing before. People killed on the tracks, I mean. I’ve seen bodies mangled up a lot worse. Not that anyone ever gets used to it, but …”
Stine nodded toward his assistant and added, “But Everett here has never been through this before.”
The younger man looked up from the table at the people in the room.
“I’ll be OK,” he said with a shaky nod, obviously trying to sound like he meant it.
Riley said, “I’m sorry to ask this – but did you see the victim just before …?”
Boynton winced sharply and said nothing.
Stine said, “Just a glimpse, that’s all. We were both in the cab. But I was on the radio making a routine call to the next station, and Everett was making calculations for the curve we were taking just then. When the engineer started braking and sounded the whistle, we looked up and saw … something, we weren’t sure what it was really.”
Stine paused, then added, “But we sure knew what happened when we walked back to the spot for a look.”
Jenn was mentally reviewing some of the research she’d done on the plane flight. She knew that freight train crews were small. Even so, there seemed to be one person missing.
“Where’s the engineer?” she asked.
“The hogger?” Bull Cullen said. “He’s in the custody suite.”
Jenn’s mouth dropped slightly.
She knew that “hogger” was railroad slang for an engineer.
But what the hell was going on here?
“You put him in a jail cell?” she asked.
Powell said, “We didn’t have much choice.”
The older conductor added, “The poor guy – he won’t talk to anybody. The only words he’s said since it happened are, ‘Lock me up.’ He just kept saying that again and again.”
The local police chief said, “So that’s what we wound up doing. It seemed the best thing for now.”
Jenn felt a flash of anger.
She asked, “Haven’t you brought in a therapist to talk to him?”
The railroad deputy chief said, “We’ve asked for a company psychologist to come in from Chicago. It’s union rules. We don’t know when he’s going to show up.”
Riley looked truly startled now.
“Surely the engineer doesn’t blame himself for what happened,” she said.
The older conductor looked surprised at the question.
“Of course he does,” he said. “It wasn’t his fault, but he can’t help it. He was the man at the controls. He’s the one who felt the most helpless. It’s eating him up inside. I hate it that he’s shut himself off like this. I really tried to talk to him, but he won’t even look me in the eye. We shouldn’t be waiting around for some damned railroad shrink to show up. Rules or not, somebody ought to do something right now. A good hogger like him deserves better.”
Jenn’s anger sharpened.
She said to Cullen, “Well, you can’t just leave him in that cell by himself. I don’t care if he insists on being alone. It can’t be good for him. Somebody needs to reach out to him.”
Everyone in the room looked at her.
Jenn hesitated, then said, “Take me to the custody suite. I want to see him.”
Riley looked up at her and said, “Jenn, I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”
But Jenn ignored her.
“What’s his name?” Jenn asked the conductors.
Boynton said, “Brock Putnam.”
“Take me to him,” Jenn insisted. “Right now.”
Chief Powell led Jenn out of the interview room and down the hall. As they walked along, Jenn wondered whether Riley might be right.
Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.
After all, she knew that empathy was hardly her strong suit as an agent. She tended to be blunt and outspoken, even when a softer touch was needed. She certainly didn’t have Riley’s ability to turn on the compassion at appropriate moments. And if Riley herself didn’t feel up to this task, why did Jenn feel like she ought to take it on?
But she couldn’t help thinking …
Somebody’s got to talk to him.
Powell led her into the row of cells, all with solid doors and tiny windows.
He asked, “Do you want me to come in with you?”
“No,” Jenn said. “I’d better do this one-on-one.”
Powell opened a door to one of the cells, and Jenn stepped inside. Powell left the door open but stepped away.
A man in his early thirties sat on the end of the cot, staring directly at the wall. He was wearing an ordinary T-shirt and backward baseball cap.
Standing just inside the doorway, Jenn said in a soft voice …
“Mr. Putnam? Brock? My name is Jenn Roston, and with the FBI. I’m so terribly sorry about what happened. I just wondered if you wanted to … talk.”
Putnam showed no indication of even hearing her.
He seemed especially determined not to make eye contact with her – or with anybody else, Jenn felt sure.
And from her research flying out here, Jenn knew exactly why he felt that way.
She swallowed hard as a knot of anxiety filled her throat.
This was going to be a lot harder than she’d even imagined.
