The Killing House

48

On the computer screen Fletcher saw the route the transmitter had travelled, where it had stopped broadcasting.

‘Malfunction?’ Karim asked.

‘I don’t think so,’ Fletcher said. ‘It was transmitting perfectly before I left for New Jersey. I need you to look up an address for me: 9611 Washburn Road in Baltimore.’

Karim turned to his keyboard. Typed and clicked the mouse button repeatedly.

‘Address is in West Baltimore,’ he said.

‘Is it a funeral home?’

Karim eyed him curiously. ‘How did you know?’

‘Does it offer cremation services?’

‘Hold on… Okay, here’s the website. Funeral home is called Washington Memorial Park… Yes, it offers cremation services.’

And now we have the reason why the GPS tracker stopped transmitting its signal, Fletcher thought. The device was destroyed when Gary Corrigan’s body was cremated.

‘How did you know?’ Karim asked again.

‘I didn’t. The ashes inside the closet made me think of it. To obtain the ammo from Sacred Ashes, you need to be able to provide ashes. Someone with access to a crematorium could do it — and easily forge the necessary death certificates.’

‘This business of making ammo using human ashes, what do you think that’s about? Why does she — or he — do it?’

‘Part of their revenge fantasy, I suspect. Does the funeral home’s website contain the names of the owner or owners? Photographs?’

‘I’m looking right now… No. There’s nothing listed under the contact page, no names or personal photographs. There are, however, pictures of the facility. It’s set in a wooded area, has its own adjoining cemetery.’ Karim looked away from the screen and said, ‘What if the other victims are somewhere on the grounds, maybe even in the funeral home itself?’

‘We won’t know until we perform a search.’

Karim glanced at his wristwatch.

‘Have your Baltimore contact do it,’ Fletcher said. ‘If these people are shutting down their operation, we can’t afford to waste any time.’

Karim nodded in agreement and reached for his phone. While he conducted his conversation, Fletcher ruminated on the bedroom closet containing the killing shrine.

Eleven garment bags and eleven sets of cremated remains tucked in bags behind the footwear. The highball glass contained a small trace of ash — human, not cigarette, ash. The closet did not smell of cigarette smoke. The woman in the fur coat sprinkled cremated remains in her bourbon and ingested her former victims as she sat in her chair, staring at the clothing and reliving… what? The kidnapping of the parent? She had also used the ashes to place three separate orders with a company that specialized in adding cremated remains to gun ammunition. She didn’t keep the ammo inside the closet. And what was the reasoning behind the custom-made ammunition? What purpose did it serve?

Fletcher didn’t have an answer, just an idea that led back to his original theory that all the victims were connected. One thing was clear: the woman in the fur coat and, possibly, her male partner were motivated by revenge.

And the children… after you harvested their organs you cremated their remains, didn’t you? But what did you do with their ashes?

Karim hung up the phone. ‘My contact is going to look into the funeral home,’ he said. ‘Now let me tell you what I found on Gary Corrigan. He has a record. After he graduated from the University of Maryland School of Medicine, he completed his residency at Saint Agnes, also in Baltimore. He stayed on and worked there as a cardiac surgeon until early 2000, when a routine audit showed he was shorting patients their medications, most notably Valium.’

‘He must have been using Valium to treat his hand tremors or surgical anxiety. Or both.’

‘You said he was using a beta-blocker and that other drug.’

‘Propranolol,’ Fletcher said. ‘The medical cocktail is relatively new.’

‘So he tried self-medicating with Valium and got caught. Why not just seek treatment?’

‘Because the hospital would have to disclose it or face possible lawsuits. And would you want a surgeon who suffered from hand tremors?’

‘Good point,’ Karim said. ‘In any event, the hospital didn’t sweep the matter under the rug. Saint Agnes brought Corrigan up on charges. After his arrest, the medical board revoked his licence to practice. Judge didn’t give him any jail time, just fined and ordered mandatory drug counselling. Corrigan entered a rehabilitation unit in Maryland that specializes in addiction within the medical community — drug addiction, from my understanding, is a common and widespread problem. Three months later, he was released.’

‘His current occupation?’

‘Corrigan worked a variety of odd jobs until early 2001. There’s nothing listed after that year. That’s when he also stopped paying taxes. IRS never caught up with him.’

‘Background?’

‘Married in ’93, divorced a year later. No kids. Never remarried. Parents are deceased. No siblings. No debt either. House paid in full. That’s all I have on him at the moment.’ Karim picked up a small remote from his desk and said, ‘Now let’s see if we can find this Jenner bloke.’