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“You passed my house, mister.”
There was no response.
“Hey! You passed my house!” She brought her feet against the back of his seat. “You. Passed. My. House.” Each word punctuated with a sharp kick.
He turned around. All the concern and kindness that had been on his face when he picked her up had melted off like wax.
“Shut the fuck up.”
When Elle woke up, her body ached—muscles sore from the tension of her nightmares. She rolled over, searching for the musky morning warmth of Martín’s body, but he must have stayed asleep on the couch. She put her hand on the cool sheets where he should have been, hating his absence. They often went to bed at different times, but they usually woke up together, spent the first few moments of the morning wrapped in each other’s arms.
She wondered who was missing Leo today, if there was a woman longing for the comfort of his embrace who would never get to experience it again. Sadness sliced through her as she thought about his body sprawled out on the floor. Since she’d started the podcast, hundreds of people had contacted her with tips and theories on the cases she investigated. As far as she knew, no one had ever ended up dead because of it. She hadn’t pulled the trigger on Leo, but if he was killed because of the information he was going to give her, she couldn’t help but feel some sense of responsibility.
But there was nothing she could do to change that. The best thing she could hope for was finding someone who knew Leo well enough to guess at the person he suspected.
Elle threw the covers off and put on sweatpants and one of Martín’s hoodies. After tying her hair up in a ponytail and washing her face with cold water, she tramped down the stairs for coffee, which she could already smell brewing. Martín was at his usual place in the kitchen, sitting on a stool at their breakfast nook with a coffee in one hand and his cell phone in the other, reading the news.
“Buenos días,” Elle said as she poured herself a cup of coffee.
“Morning.”
“Late shift today?”
He nodded, not looking up from his phone. “I swapped with Dr. Phillips so she could get out of town early for the weekend. Blizzard’s coming.”
Elle pressed her lips to his temple and stroked the back of his head, fingers tangling in his curls. “Okay, no problem. Guess I’ll fend for myself for dinner—been a while since I did my standard apple, cheese, and wine like in college.” When he didn’t laugh, she pulled her hand away. “Hope your neck doesn’t hurt from the sofa cushions. You were so out I didn’t want to wake you.”
“It’s fine.”
She took a step back. “Everything okay?”
Martín set his phone down and looked up at her. “Where’d you go last night? I was worried.”
She pulled out the stool next to him and sat down. “I got an email on my show account. This guy, Leo Toca, said he knew who TCK was. I talked to him on the phone, and he wanted me to come over so he could give me the information.”
Martín’s eyes widened. “You went over to some strange guy’s house late at night because he said he had a clue about a serial killer?”
“I took my gun.”
“Dios mío, Elle. That is so dangerous.”
She took a drink of black coffee. “Well, obviously I’m fine.”
“Just because you weren’t hurt doesn’t mean it was okay to go by yourself.”
Her hands tightened on the mug. “This is my job, Martín, and I don’t need a babysitter to do it. Nothing happened to me, see? You don’t always have to imagine the worst-case scenario.”
“Dealing with people who got caught in the worst-case scenario is my job,” he snapped.
She knew that, of course. Martín had always maintained a sense of humor about his gruesome line of work, much like the cops and social workers Elle knew. It was the only way to keep their heads from exploding with all the pain they saw in the world.
But when it came to Elle’s work, Martín’s humor ran short, and since she’d started the TCK case, he had been more on edge than usual. It was understandable, but she wasn’t going to stop putting herself in dangerous situations—it came with the territory, when you were trying to catch a child killer.
After a few moments of silence between them, he put a hand on her arm. His voice was soft as he said, “Elle, don’t you understand how much it scares me to think of you getting hurt?”
“It was about TCK. I had to go.”
He squeezed her arm. “Well, obviously you’re in one piece. What did the man say?”
“Um.” Elle took another long drink.
“Elle. What did he say?”
“He didn’t say anything.”
“Why not?”
She looked at the dark liquid swirling in her cup. “Because he was dead when I got there.”
“What?!” Running his fingers through his hair, Martín let out a growl of frustration. “Pues, claro que sí estaba muerto en la casa. How? What happened? Who killed him?”
“I don’t know, but it looks like probably the guy who ran off when I got there.”
A vein above Martín’s right eye bulged. Elle swallowed hard. When he spoke again, his voice was strained. “You went to a stranger’s house in the middle of the night, found someone standing over a freshly murdered body, and you didn’t call me? Didn’t tell me when you got home?”
“I didn’t want to wake you,” she said.
He let out a bark of laughter and scrubbed his hands across his face. “You didn’t want to wake me. ¡No manches!”
She pulled at his hands so she could look him in the eye. “Look, I get why you’re upset, cariño, I do. But we’ve talked about this. You know I don’t do anything half-assed. If I’m going to catch this guy, I’m going to have to take risks.”
“Not stupid ones like this, you don’t.” When Elle bristled, his expression softened. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong.”
“I know you’re pissed, but I’m not stupid.”
“I know you’re not. And I’m not pissed, I’m worried.” He put his hands on her shoulders, held her at arm’s length as if to examine her for wounds. “You’re sure you’re not hurt? Carajo, mi amor, I can’t believe this. So, you walk in and the guy’s dead and the other one runs off. What happened next? You didn’t try to stop him, did you?”
“No, I didn’t. I called the police.” Elle explained the rest, including the subsequent interview with Sam and Ayaan, although she left out the part where she searched Leo’s corpse for evidence. She’d given Martín enough to deal with for today. By the time she finished, he was sitting across from her again, their knees touching and hands clasped, coffee growing cold on the counter.
“So, what are you going to do now?” he asked at last.
“I need to see if I can find someone who knew Leo well enough that he might have trusted them with the information he was going to give me. If I’m really lucky, I might be able to figure out who he suspected just by meeting them, but I’m not banking on that. Hundreds of people have thought their weird uncle or their abusive father was TCK over the years; it’s possible Leo was just another one of those, but I have to investigate it.”
He nodded and met Elle’s gaze. Reaching out to cup the side of her face, he leaned forward and captured her lips with his. It was a deep kiss, stronger and more passionate than she expected. She let herself get lost in it for a moment.
When they broke away, Martín’s eyes were bright with emotion. “Elle, you’re good at your job. I know how important this case is to you. Just, please promise me you’ll be more careful, okay?”
Elle took his face in her hands and kissed him one more time before pulling back to look into his eyes. “I promise.”
8
Justice Delayed podcast
December 19, 2019
Transcript: Season 5, Episode 3
Elle voice-over:
There is an event known in medical circles as agonal respiration. It often happens when a person is dying. They
open their mouths and take a gulping, wheezing attempt at breath. You can hear the air get trapped in their throats, unable to pass through.
That’s what investigating the Countdown Killer case is like: one final gasp of something that’s near death, a last-ditch effort to get enough oxygen to survive.
[SOUND BREAK: Cars driving by on a highway; the blare of a semitruck horn.]
Elle voice-over:
Twelve-year-old Jessica Elerson was the last known girl murdered by the Countdown Killer. She went missing just a few yards from where I’m standing outside a Super Target just off I-694.
[THEME MUSIC + INTRO]
[SOUND BREAK: A clip of theme music from SpongeBob SquarePants.]
Elle voice-over:
Jessica loved SpongeBob. She was a bona fide nerd, spending her free time watching goofy cartoons and playing whatever video games she could buy or rent with her allowance. Jessica loved board games and science experiment kits, My Little Pony and microscopes. She kept her parents busy with all the school clubs she joined, but she always made time to help out with her little brother. She loved being an older sister more than anything in the world.
Bonnie:
If Jessica wasn’t at school or one of her extracurricular activities, she was playing with Simon. She was seven when we found out we had another baby on the way, and she couldn’t have been more excited. She was meant to be a big sister.
[SOUND BREAK: Steaming wand screeching as it foams milk; grinding coffee beans.]
Elle voice-over:
This is Bonnie Elerson, Jessica’s mother. We met in a café in her town, which I won’t disclose for privacy reasons. Bonnie looks like most of the white, Midwestern mothers I grew up around: graying hair in short, loose curls; smooth hands with blunt, practical nails; straight teeth with a smattering of silver fillings that show when she laughs, which she does more than I expected. I like Bonnie. If you didn’t know what she’d been through, you would probably never guess. The amount of pain a woman can bear with a smile on her face is astonishing.
Elle:
Does Simon remember her?
Bonnie:
Yes. It’s hard to tell, really, how many of his memories were formed independently, and how many have been created by us recounting them. He was five when she was . . . when she passed. But we talked about her all the time. Some of our friends said it might be better if we pretended with Simon like she had never been there, but we couldn’t do that to him. All he did for weeks after was ask for his sister. For the first month or so, I couldn’t stop worrying about how upset he was, how devastated that she wasn’t coming home. Then, when he finally accepted it, I became terrified he would forget her entirely. Somehow, that broke my heart just as much. I had to make sure he remembered his sister, how much she loved him. So yes, we talked about her. We made sure he knew she didn’t leave him on purpose.
Elle:
You took care of your son, even when no one could have blamed you for falling apart about your daughter.
Bonnie:
Of course. We couldn’t stop being parents.
Elle:
I can’t imagine the decision to speak to me was an easy one. I want you to know I’m really grateful for it. You’re the first parent who’s talked to me about their child, and even though I completely understand why no one else was able to, it’s invaluable to hear from you. You knew Jessica better than anyone. If you don’t mind, can you tell me what happened the day she was taken?
Bonnie:
We were at the store, getting groceries after her swimming lessons on Monday. We always did our weekly shop on that day, so we could have the weekends to relax as a family. Like she usually did, about halfway through my shopping she got bored and asked for some money to play the arcade games in the entryway. She liked the claw one where you try to pick up a stuffed animal. Wasn’t very good at it, although I think those things are rigged. But the money went to charity, so I didn’t mind.
Well, I finished up and went to get her, but she wasn’t there. I searched the candy section, the bakery, called her name. I just remember being so embarrassed. I felt like one of those useless moms that lost her kid, and Jessica was twelve. It wasn’t like she was a toddler. But finally, I had to give up and find security. They put it out over the PA system, telling her to come meet me by the service desk, and I remember thinking I was going to give her a piece of my mind once she came back from whatever silly shopping excursion she’d gone on. Only she never came back.
Elle:
Do you remember what happened next?
Bonnie:
It took a while for it to hit me that something was wrong. That the delay in her coming back was far too long to be explained by her trying not to get into trouble. This was before most people had cell phones, so I used the phone in the security office to call Chris, my husband. After that, it’s a blur. I don’t remember who called the police, but they were there and asking questions, and I was just staring at that stupid claw machine, waiting for her to pop out from behind it and say it was just a big misunderstanding. I even entertained, for a moment, that she had somehow climbed inside to get the stuffed bird she’d been trying to snag for weeks. It was a parrot, Simon’s favorite animal at the time. She wanted to win it for him.
Elle:
It’s okay. Take your time.
Bonnie:
[Through tears.] She had such a good heart. That’s what I remember most of all. I’m sure every mother thinks this, but she would have done amazing things. I’m sorry for myself and my family, still, but I’m also sorry the world was robbed of her.
Elle voice-over:
Renewed panic shot through the Minneapolis area when Jessica was kidnapped. Again, it was almost exactly a year after TCK’s last murder spree, and by nature of the countdown, the girls were getting younger, more vulnerable. When a victim is killed, one of the first questions both police and the public tend to ask is why. Why them? Why would someone do this?
The public, via the media, wants to know for reasons both sensational and self-preservationist. Murder makes a good story—our national obsession with true crime podcasts like this one is proof enough of that. But there’s more to it than just entertainment. If we know what the victim did before they were killed, we know what not to do, and in that way convince ourselves we can feel safer—regardless of whether the victim’s actions had any bearing on their death.
The police want to know for other reasons. Victimology, the study of crime victims and their possible relationships with their attackers, plays a key role in solving homicides. The more investigators know about the victim, the better chance they have at finding the killer. What made the killer choose that victim at that time, in that place, to kill in that manner? This may sound close to victim blaming, but the intention is to point the spotlight on the perpetrator—not the person they hurt. People classified as high-risk by a victimology analysis can walk around every day without becoming victims. Someone classified as low-risk can go about their normal, safe routine and still be attacked by an opportunistic killer. What’s important is learning who the victims are, and therefore who they spend their time around, in order to home in on a possible suspect. Answering the standard victimology questions can be the difference between catching a killer and letting them go free.
Elle:
By the time Jessica Elerson was taken, you had gotten assistance from the FBI on the previous murders, is that right?
Sykes:
Yes, they set about creating well-developed profiles for each of TCK’s victims, in the hopes there would be something in their victimology that linked them all together and helped us identify the killer. Unfortunately, they didn’t find anything specific. They did conclude that none of them was particularly high-risk for becoming the victim of a crime. Although some engaged in moderately risky behaviors, such as walking alone at dusk or after dark, they were all in populated areas, and some were even taken in the middle of the day. This led the FBI to conclude that the
killer must have stalked them, probably for weeks at a time, and either knew exactly when they would be alone or struck in a random moment of vulnerability. We know at least with Beverly Anderson and Lilian Davies, they were crimes of opportunity. Their normal routine was disrupted, but he was able to strike at the exact right moment, as if he’d been waiting for an opening. But others were captured doing something in their regular schedule, as if TCK had shown up knowing exactly where they would be at that specific time. And because his pattern and timeframe for each kidnapping was so critical, there was no room for error.
Elle:
Speaking of his pattern, let’s talk about that. We know the numbers three, seven, and twenty-one are important to him. He took the girls three days apart, but he also kidnapped most of them in threes. Isabelle, Vanessa, and Tamera were taken one after the other. Then Lilian, Carissa, and Katrina. But there are only two victims, Beverly and Jillian, from his first known murders in 1996. This is something that has been a source of speculation and conspiracy over the years. We know those murders were different; Beverly and Jillian did not show evidence of being forced to clean like the others, for example. And as we discussed previously, this has led some people to theorize that Jimmy killed the first two girls and then a copycat took over. But, Detective Sykes, after two decades working on this case, what do you think about the disparity?
Sykes: