Page 68

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Jude studied the findings from Madison Dalrymple’s autopsy report.

Contusions, abrasions, blunt force trauma, petechia, shattered bones, dislocated jaw, broken hyoid.

There were nearly one hundred pages of photographs with descriptions detailing the torture and abuse the fifteen-year-old child had suffered over the course of several hours before she was strangled to death.

Every bone in Madison’s hands and feet had been shattered with a blunt force instrument.

Several blows had been brought down with such force that the almost perfect impression of the head of a sixteen-ounce general purpose claw hammer could be made out in stark relief.

The destruction had occurred early on in the child’s abduction.

The swelling was so pronounced at the time of her death that the skin had ruptured.

The fact that Madison had been kept alive for at least twelve hours gave Jude pause.

The predator had access to a location that was safe enough, secure enough, that a screaming child would not be heard.

Considering the more rural nature of Clifton County, that information did nothing to help narrow down a location.

In fact, nothing that Jude had found so far had narrowed down anything.

In predatory kidnappings, the abductor generally has one driving purpose: to sexually abuse a child.

Once the act is complete, they begin to develop a permission structure in order to justify what they knew would happen all along: murdering the child.

Jude had heard so many predators relay their excuses so many times—

I didn’t want to hurt her, but she could identify me.

I couldn’t let one mistake ruin my life.

I was scared my mother would find out.

This isn’t who I am; I’m a good man.

Once the murder occurs, the only thing left is figuring out where to dispose of the body.

Water is the far superior choice since trace evidence will be washed away, though the fact that Cheyenne and Madison’s killer had chosen Millie’s pond was completely illogical.

Jude and Henry had spent almost every summer swimming in the cool waters.

It was a gorgeous spot for sunbathing, but the pond was completely exposed in the middle of Millie’s seventy-acre backyard.

Jude slowly paged back through the colored photographs. During the course of her career, there had been so many similar photos, so many shocking descriptions, but Jude had never found that magic off switch that anesthetized her to the cruelties that could be inflicted on children.

She took off her reading glasses to give her eyes a rest. She’d already reviewed Cheyenne’s comparatively sparse autopsy report.

The girl had been shot in the forehead with a .

22 rimfire pistol. Death had been immediate.

There had been no signs of sexual abuse, though the multiple contusions and edemas on her body indicated that the predator had violently beaten her with his fists before she’d died.

To Jude’s thinking, the most remarkable finding between the two autopsies was the fact that the killer had not broken Cheyenne’s hands and feet the way he had with Madison.

She picked up her pen and wrote a note on her legal pad to follow up on the nineteen-year-old murder victim in Arkansas and the twenty-one-year-old victim in Texas who’d both had their hands and feet broken with a hammer.

Jude wanted to see their autopsy reports.

The use of a hammer in violent attacks wasn’t uncommon, but the location of the broken bones certainly was.

She had a feeling that her contact at the National Center for Missing & Exploited Children would be able to find more cases.

Jude put down her pen. She looked at the whiteboard at the head of the conference table. No leads had been important enough to call out. The monitor showed a black screen with the bouncing Clifton County Sheriff’s Department seal. They’d been going at it for almost three hours.

Cole, Virgil and Emmy still had their heads down as they reviewed hundreds, possibly thousands, of data points.

Only Cole was using a laptop. The rest of them had opened up the boxes from Virgil’s basement.

The contents were sorted into stacks of printed photographs, statements, depositions, reports, trial transcripts, thumb drives with CCTV footage, and the various detritus that accompanied major cases.

Every item was Bates stamped with a corresponding number and code to indicate that the evidence had been logged.

There were handwritten notations on every phone number that had been called, every lead that had been followed.

Jude had come to recognize Emmy’s habit of using random capital letters that must’ve driven Myrna insane.

Gerald hadn’t just taught her to be a good cop.

He’d taught her the importance of keeping your paperwork in order.

Jude took a moment to study Emmy’s profile.

Her head was bowed over the trial transcripts from The State of Georgia v.

Adam Johnathan Huntsinger . Her uniform was crisp, her hair neatly pinned on top of her head, but the haunted look from the funeral home hadn’t left her eyes.

It wasn’t exhaustion but anxiety that seemed to be eating her from the inside out.

Jude knew what it was like to read through old cases, the memories that could resurface along with the brutal details.

There was a sort of dreaded relief when you located a body.

You’d achieved a goal, your soul-crushing quest was finally over, but at a horrible expense.

You carried those memories with you for the rest of your life.

Cole stifled a yawn. He stood up from the conference table and went into the tiny kitchenette at the back of the room.

Jude followed him for the chance to stretch her legs.

She was glad to see he was making a fresh pot of coffee.

The disturbed look on his face was new. He’d probably thought he was being brave by volunteering to take on reading Dale Loudermilk’s case.

Emmy had kept out the pornographic photos of children that Dale had downloaded onto his laptop, but sometimes the stark descriptions could be just as haunting.

Prosecutors were incentivized to make them as lurid and disgusting as possible.

Jude asked, “You okay, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, but man, what an evil bastard.” Cole started scooping coffee into the filter. “Mr. Loudermilk taught at my school. I’m glad Jonah made me sign up for band instead of chorus.”

Despite the circumstances, Jude felt herself smile, because of course Cole had taken band. “What did you play?”

“Tambourine.” The sly grin was back on his face. The boy certainly loved pissing off his father. “Why don’t you sound Southern?”

“It comes out when I’m angry, drunk, or tired.”

“I heard it when you were angry at Brett, that’s for sure.” Cole filled the carafe with water from the sink. “It’s hard to believe that guy taught in the same school as Tommy and Celia, but they never knew how gross he was.”

“The thing about pedophiles is, they don’t just groom their victims. They groom everyone around them.

” Jude stepped back so he could fill the reservoir with water.

“It’s a standard part of their playbook.

They’re the nicest guys you know. They’ll help you move a couch or cut your lawn or volunteer to drive you to a doctor’s appointment.

That way, when a child finds the courage to tell the truth, no one believes such a good guy would ever do anything so unspeakable. ”

“His wife stuck by him until she died a few years ago.” Cole punched on the coffee maker. “Even after Dale confessed as part of his plea deal, she wrote a letter to the judge asking for leniency.”

“I’m sure Dale told her he was only taking the deal because he had no choice, and it was all a big misunderstanding.”

Cole looked surprised. “How did you know?”

“Because that’s what they all do, sweetheart.” Jude rubbed his arm. She was pleased that he didn’t pull away this time. “Let’s get back to work.”

Emmy looked up from the trial transcript when Jude returned to the conference room. As usual, she dove right in. “You said you need a body to accurately profile a killer. You’ve read the autopsies. What’s your profile?”

“The same.” Jude couldn’t sit down anymore.

She crossed her arms, stood at the head of the table as if she was teaching a class.

“He’s a white man who works in a skilled position that requires some education or training.

He has frequent contact with children and is trusted in the community.

He’s likely married, possibly with a family of his own. ”

Cole said, “To cover himself, right? So nobody suspects him.”

Jude nodded. “Right.”

“Here’s the problem.” Emmy sat back in her chair.

“That’s not Adam. He’s not skilled. Never married.

Always in trouble. Driving around with an open bottle of Jack and a joint in the ashtray and no driver’s license.

He was incredibly suspicious. Kids called him the Perv because he was always hanging around high schoolers. ”

“She’s right.” Virgil looked at Jude over his glasses. “I know this is your specialty, but even if you take Adam Huntsinger out of it, that profile doesn’t exactly narrow things down, especially in a state of eleven million people, roughly half of them men.”

“He’s local to Clifton County,” Jude said.

“He had time to develop a relationship with Madison and Cheyenne. He left their bodies in a very public place. I’m shocked Millie didn’t see him weigh down the girls in the pond.

When I was a kid, she was always looking out her kitchen window to make sure no one was cutting through her yard. ”

Virgil said, “Millie was out with everybody else searching for the girls.”