The King Tides

Chapter 35 Dark Journey

Karissa was screaming, her voice so loud that it came through the speaker in Lancaster’s cell phone. Daniels looked up from the computer.

“Who the hell is that?” the FBI agent asked.

“One second.” Holding the cell phone against his chest so Karissa couldn’t hear, he said, “Her name’s Karissa Clement. She helped me get my hands on her ex-boyfriend’s cell phone with the Cassandra videos, which led me to you. I’m guessing the ex-boyfriend found out and is threatening her.”

“Do you need my help?”

“I just might. Let me talk to her and find out what’s going on. I’ll be right back.”

He walked outside to the balcony and shut the slider behind him. He had lost track of the time, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the night. There was a storm churning out in the Atlantic, and an invisible moist cloth swept across his skin. He brought the cell phone up to his ear and said, “Sorry about that. You still there?”

“Yes, Jon,” Karissa said. “I’m still here. Who were you just talking to?”

“There’s an FBI agent in my condo. We’re working on a case together.”

“Sounds important. I don’t mean to interrupt whatever you’re doing, but I need your help. Zack figured out that I spoke to you, and now he’s after me.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“Zack was waiting when I got off work. The hospital parking area is being paved, so everyone has to park across the street in an empty lot. I came out to my car and he appeared out of nowhere, and started talking to me in a low voice so no one else could hear. He said that someone had gone online and downloaded pornographic videos that he kept stored on his cell phone. Zack said that you’d confronted him and mentioned my name, and he put two and two together. He said that he was going to kidnap me and rape me and then he was going to kill me. He promised to make me suffer.”

“Did you call the police?”

“I sure did. They went to see him, and he denied the whole thing. There aren’t any surveillance cameras in the lot, so it’s my word against his.”

“Meaning the cops aren’t going to do squat.”

“That’s why I called you. What am I going to do?”

He stood at the balcony railing and wrestled with how to handle her question. Karissa had gone out of her way to help him, and now she was being repaid by a madman’s threats. He had to make this right and prove to her that she’d done the right thing. “You need to leave Fort Lauderdale right now. I have two gay friends in Marathon that own a motel called Captain Pip’s Hideaway. Go there and hide out. You’ll be safe. I’ll deal with Zack.”

“But I don’t have the money for a motel,” she said.

“You won’t need any money. Roger and Frankie used to be cops. Tell them I sent you, and that I want you to stay in the guest bedroom in their house. Zack won’t be able to find you there, and if he somehow did, their dogs would rip him apart.”

“Your friends have dogs?”

“They raise German shorthaired pointers and always have a pack.”

“What about Zack? I can’t hide in Marathon forever.”

“I’m going to have Special Agent Daniels arrest Zack for being a pedophile.”

“She’ll do that for you?”

“I’m sure I can talk her into it. You need to jump into your car and get on the road right now. Call me when you get to Marathon and are at Captain Pip’s. Does that sound like a plan?”

“It sounds like a great plan.”

“One more thing. Special Agent Daniels is going to need evidence so she can arrest Zack. Can you remember any other devices that he used to store his porn?”

“I sure can. Zack had an iPad that he kept locked in a desk at his apartment. He told me that he used the iPad for work, only it never left his place. I’m certain that’s where he keeps most of his dirty pictures and videos.”

“That works. Now, get out of there.”

“I’ve got one foot out the door.”

“And call me when you get there.”

“I will. Thanks, Jon. I knew I could count on you.”

He ended the call and stared into the darkness, hoping that Karissa would be safe. A tapping sound broke his concentration, and he went to the slider. Daniels stood on the other side of the glass wearing a triumphant look on her weary face. The DMV database had come through, and he pulled back the glass and stepped inside.

“You found our killers,” he said.

“They were the second-to-last names on the list, if you can believe that,” she said with a tired laugh. “You were right about their driver’s licenses being like a trail of bread crumbs. They’ve moved around a lot, and every time they relocate in a new state, they get new licenses.”

“How long have they been in South Florida?”

“They both got their Florida driver’s licenses on the same day seven years ago. Did I mention that they both have criminal records for being perverts?”

“You have their rap sheets?”

“Yes indeed. Want to see them?”

“I do. Before you show them to me, I need to ask a favor.”

“Let me guess. You want me to arrest your girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend.”

His face grew warm. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Let me rephrase that. You want me to arrest your soon-to-be girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend. What have you got on him?”

“Why do you keep saying that?”

“You care about her. I could hear it in your voice when you answered her call. And she called you because she trusts you and knows she can depend on you. Sounds like the start of a beautiful relationship.”

Daniels was reading the situation wrong. He kept his personal life and his work separate, and didn’t date women he met during investigations, even if he found himself attracted to them. His mission was to serve and protect, not sleep with. He decided to move on and said, “Her ex-boyfriend’s name is Zack Kenny and he has an iPad in his apartment filled with porn of young girls. I can give you the address.”

“Consider it done.”

“Thank you. Can I ask another?”

She lifted an eyebrow suspiciously.

“During my investigation, I stumbled across some dirty cops stealing cocaine from the sheriff’s office property stockade and selling it on the street. I can’t go directly to the sheriff’s office with the information without revealing my source, and that would put his life in jeopardy. I was hoping you could help me out.”

“Do you know how they’re getting the coke out?”

“It’s pretty clever. The thief is using the coke to train a drug-sniffing dog, then he’s switching it with flour before returning it to the property unit.”

“Okay. I’ll see what I can do.”

He followed her through the apartment to the study. His hunch that the Hanover killers were male nurses had paid off. It was a satisfying feeling, but it didn’t match the elation that he knew Special Agent Daniels was experiencing. Not only was she about to capture a pair of elusive serial killers, she was also going to bring to justice the two men who’d tried to abduct her when she was a college student. He couldn’t think of a more satisfying outcome and looked forward to experiencing it with her.

On his desk was a pile of papers she’d printed off his laser printer. She triumphantly handed him the top two sheets. “Our killers’ names are Jack Butler and Brandon Rhoden, and they both worked as ER nurses at Dartmouth-Hitchcock during the time of the Hanover killings,” she said. “These documents are their work history, courtesy of my HR friend at the hospital.”

He studied the two pages. Butler and Rhoden had started at the hospital at the same time, and they’d left their jobs at the same time as well. He strained his memory and realized they’d left their jobs three months after Daniels’s failed abduction.

“Did your HR contact know if they quit, or if they were fired?” he asked.

“My contact said it was by mutual agreement. She said that they both showed a lack of compassion for patients in need of critical care.”

“Are they sociopaths?”

“That would be my guess.”

From the pile, she removed two sheets that were paper clipped together and handed them to him. The logo at the top of the first page said NCSBN, which stood for National Council of State Boards of Nursing. “I contacted the NCSBN to see where Butler and Rhoden went next,” she said. “The NCSBN keeps data on every registered nurse in the country and has five million active names in its database. They spent a year working at a hospital in Dayton, Ohio, another year at a hospital in Asheville, North Carolina, and then stints in Atlanta, Baton Rouge, and Houston, with each job never lasting longer than twelve months.”

Atlanta and Houston were two of the three cities where the killers had dropped off film of their female victims to pharmacies to be developed, the third being Fort Lauderdale. The circumstantial evidence against Butler and Rhoden was building.

“Moving is expensive,” he said. “Is there any way to find out why they didn’t stay for more than a year at any of these hospitals?”

“Not easily,” she said. “It’s personal information, and those hospitals won’t release it without a court order. I’m sure it was for the same reasons as Dartmouth-Hitchcock. The staff realized they weren’t normal, and they were pushed out.”

“But the staffs didn’t report them, so Butler and Rhoden continued to find work.”

“Correct. As I’m sure you’re aware, people in the medical profession are loathe to turn on bad doctors and nurses, even when they’re monsters.”

“You mean like Michael Swango.”

“Exactly. Just like Swango.”

Dr. Michael Swango was living proof that the medical profession did not know how to police itself. Over a span of seventeen years, Swango had been instrumental in the deaths of several patients, first while working as an ambulance attendant, then as a doctor. He had poisoned numerous patients and coworkers, yet had managed to keep his license and was employed as a doctor overseas at the time of his arrest by the FBI.

“Now here’s the good stuff,” Daniels said.

In her hand was a rap sheet, courtesy of the National Crime Information Center. NCIC documents were instantly recognizable due to their distinct dark font and logo being prominently stamped on the top of every page. He traded her the NCSBN documents.

“That’s Rhoden’s arrest record,” she added.

He studied the page. Rhoden’s journey to the dark side had started in Dayton, where he’d been arrested for accessing child pornography off a computer at the hospital where he was employed. His second arrest had occurred at a hospital in Asheville, where he’d also been caught downloading illegal images of kids. He’d been a good boy in Atlanta and Baton Rouge, but then got caught with his hand in the cookie jar in Houston, where he’d been arrested for attempting to procure sex with an undercover cop posing as a teenager in a chat room, also on a hospital computer.

“Why does Rhoden use computers at hospitals?” he asked. “He would have to know that he’d lose his job if he got caught.”

“It’s a ploy that many predators use,” she said. “Their lawyer can claim that the computer in question was used by other people at the hospital, therefore making it impossible to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that their client actually did it.”

“Does it work?”

“It worked for Rhoden. His attorney got the charges against him reduced in every case. Bastard never did time, just house arrest.”

“But he does have a record. So how did he keep getting hospital jobs?”

“I asked myself the same question,” she said. “If you look closely at his work record, you’ll see that he slightly changed his last name on his job applications. He added an r and spelled his name Rhorden on each application. That way, his rap sheet didn’t come up when the hospital did a background check on him.”

He found himself nodding. It was the type of ingenious trick that could allow a serial predator to work at a respectable job and fly beneath the radar.

“What about Butler?” he asked. “Does he have a record?”

“Yes, and it’s ugly.”

She passed him Butler’s rap sheet, and he spent a moment reading it. Butler had the same number of arrests as Rhoden and for similar offenses, ranging from downloading illegal images to trying to procure sex with a minor. The crimes had taken place on computers where he worked and in one case on a computer at a public library.

“Let me guess,” he said. “He kept being employed by altering his name on his work applications.”

“Correct, only he altered his first name,” she said. “On his work applications, he goes by Jack. His actual first name is Jace. That’s what’s on his driver’s license, and that was what got recorded each time he was arrested, only he calls himself Jack.”

“Were his convictions also pleaded down?”

“Correct again. Believe it or not, he and Rhoden used the same lawyer. I wouldn’t be surprised if they have him on retainer.”

He handed the rap sheets back to her. Rhoden and Butler had created a subterfuge that allowed them to commit heinous crimes while remaining employed. Each time they got caught, they moved to another city and went right back to breaking the law.

“You’re sure they’re our killers?” he asked.

Daniels pulled back in her chair. It was not the response she was expecting.

“You sound skeptical,” she said.

“There’s a hole here that needs to be filled,” he said. “If Rhoden and Butler are our guys, why is there a gap in their killings? The two murders at Dartmouth College took place twenty years ago. The new killings started seven years ago. That’s a gap of thirteen years. Why did they stop?”

She took a deep breath before replying. When she did answer him, the words were filled with pain. “They stopped because of what happened in the forest when they were chasing me. I’m pretty fast, and they must have realized they weren’t going to catch me because they were both cursing under their breath. I heard one of them fall, and the other fell on top of him. I spun around and saw them lying in the dirt. The one on top was looking right at me. I could see his eyes through his ski mask. His right eye had a milky discoloration, either from a scar or an infection. I shook my fist and said, ‘I know what you look like, you dirty motherfucker! I’ll get you one day!’ Then, I bolted. I didn’t tell the author of The Hanover Killers that part, so it didn’t end up in the book.”

“You can identify one of them,” he said.

“That’s right. I’d heard their voices and could identify one of them. They went dark for thirteen years, and satisfied their cravings in other ways. Then I got promoted at the FBI. They found out, and decided to enact a payback.”

“The Saint Jude medal they put on their victims’ necks before they kill them is to taunt you. It’s their way of saying that your investigation is a lost cause.”

She nodded solemnly. “Correct. That’s not just my opinion. It’s also the bureau’s. Our profilers looked at the evidence and determined that’s their motivation.”

“I’m surprised they left you on the case.”

“In the beginning, I was too. But then I realized how much sense it made. If anyone was going to catch them, it was going to be me.”

The study was starting to feel claustrophobic. He rose and soon was standing with his stomach pressed to the balcony railing, breathing sweet salt air. She joined him holding two glasses of OJ and handed him one. She clinked her glass against his.

“What are we celebrating?” he asked.

“I’ve been chasing these fuckers for a long time, and now I’m going to take them down,” she said, unable to hide the satisfaction in her voice.

“How? You don’t have any evidence.”

“No, but I can still arrest them, and get a DNA swab, and make a match.”

“On what charges?”

“When Rhoden and Butler moved to Fort Lauderdale they didn’t register themselves as sexual predators. The Sex Offender Registration and Notification Act requires that all sexual predators register when they change addresses. They’re also required to make in-person appearances with local law enforcement to verify and update their information.

“They didn’t do that. The authorities in Atlanta should have checked up on them, since that was the last place where they lived, but it never happened.”

“They slipped through the cracks.”

“Uh-huh. I’m guessing they moved here and waited to see if the law would catch up with them. When it didn’t, they went on their killing spree.”

She had made the pieces of the puzzle fit. Rhoden and Butler had lived in Hanover during the first killings and also lived in the cities where the subsequent killings had taken place. And, they were sexual predators with criminal records. All the road signs pointed to them, which 99 percent of the time meant it was them. It was a solid piece of investigative work born out of years of frustration and failure. He hardly knew her, but that didn’t lessen how proud he felt for her. She had gone down the long road, and now the finish line was in sight.

“I have their current address,” she said. “Got it from DMV and reconfirmed it on the property appraiser’s website. They live in a house in Oakland Park they bought seven years ago. I’ve asked a team of agents from our North Miami office to help me bust them. I’d like you to join us. I think you deserve it.”

For a cop, there was no greater honor than to be asked to join a bust. Whatever lingering bad feelings he’d had for her evaporated, including her breaking his grandmother’s ladle.

“Count me in,” he said. “Would you like me to draw them out? It’s my specialty.”

“How do you plan to do that?”

“Easy. I’ll pretend I work for Amazon.”