No portion of this book may be reproduced or reprinted in any medium, or by electronic, mechanical or any other means without the express written consent of the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Any references or uses to real world events, people, products or places are used in a fictitious manner. Other characters, events, or places are products of imagination and any resemblance to actual people, places or happenings is purely coincidental.
Edited by Robin Littell
Cover Design by Katie Olson
1
The Texas summer morning was warm and dry; the dawn air meandered around, shuffling throughout the tall countryside grasses. The landscape glowed in the tone of the rising sun. This portion of the world, fresh into the new day, was still dormant and restful. All except for one small sliver.
Across this expansive southern countryside, cars stacked themselves up beside the road and in a field of the gold-hued grasses. Atop each of these cars flashed the universally known red and blue siren lights. Yellow tape cut through the serenity and interrupted the wind's delicate dance through the plains.
Suits and uniforms shuffled all around the field. Many were quiet, some looked around, others paid close attention to the scene. All those who were talking spoke of the same thing. The group's focus on this day was new to them, but at the same time repetitive.
Stuck in the center of this field sat a disrupted patch of golden grass. The blades were weighed down by a red and metallic smelling substance all too familiar to everyone at the scene. Blood stained the grass all around the body nestled deep in the field grass. It had only been there a few hours; some spots of blood were still wet enough to be dripping off the tall blades. Despite this, there was no rush in the minds of the living souls there. There was no gritty race against time to collect all the evidence and get someone into custody. Everyone at the scene knew the drill for this now, and its code was slow.
The body fit the description of a disappearance that had occurred in a nearby town two weeks prior. A high school aged girl, popular among her peers and adults alike. It was a typical filler piece for the news crews. Nobody could see any reason why she would run away, nor why anyone would foster enough ill will against her to steal her away. But the police knew better.
Two weeks gone, two weeks of tireless searching, all turned up nothing. But after those two weeks, the girl turned up in a field outside her town, throat cut from ear-to-ear. Blood covered the scene. But there were not any telling marks, no evidence left behind. In any other place, the killing would be a grizzly homicide worthy of the front page. To the police and investigators in this area of Texas however, it was nothing more than another one down.
This body made eleven in two years. Young teenage girls, aging from thirteen to eighteen, all disappeared without a trace, all from different towns across the state. Searches would go on, people's hope would remain high. But two weeks, always two weeks, after the disappearance, a body would show up. Throat cut, deep and long, bruising and burns spotted each corpse, but never any signs of major physical or sexual violence. Sometimes they'd turn up in fields, sometimes in ditches or wooded areas, never over twenty miles away from the point of disappearance. Not hidden, they were meant to be found, and to be found fast. No weapon would be found, no witnesses would be available. The case would go cold until another body would arrive.
Investigators were already versed in these killings. They knew that after a disappearance they'd have a precise search area and the time when a body would show up. But the perpetrator always eluded law enforcement. Without fail, the killer would fade off and away from the scene without so much as a hair left behind.
"The people in town are gonna make a fuss about this," a uniformed officer said.
"She was one of the cute, popular ones." A detective beside the officer shrugged, looking down at the bloody mess of a body. "They always throw a tantrum over the cute ones."
"Evidence team turnin' up anythin'?"
"What the hell do you think, son? We ain't gonna get lucky here, it's another notch in this guy's knife handle and we're all gonna have to move on and try to forget this guy ever struck here."
"Tell that to the family."
"The family is gonna keep hoping, that's what they always do. They'll hope for justice, swift and sure, but they'll be lucky if we find this guy twenty or thirty years from now, if ever. For all we can tell we've got another Zodiac on our hands."
"So what are we supposed to do now? Keep lookin'?" The officer looked around, watching evidence team members wading through the tall grasses.
"That's about all we can do." The detective nodded. "We'll let the feds know what happened, maybe they can do more about it. But other than that all we've got here is a bloody crime scene, a family without a daughter, and not a single person to pin any blame on." He peered over to the officer. "Now all we can do is hunker down and wait for number twelve."