Profiled (2 page)

Chapter One

March 28, 2013

Lexie McCain took her place in front of the yellow crime scene tape, held her microphone to ward off the evening chill associated with Georgia this time of year and watched for her cameraman’s cue.

Henry performed one last adjustment to the backlighting, then held his earpiece for instructions from the station. He nodded while listening, drew his eyes to Lexie and mouthed, “We’re live in three, two, one,” then he gave her the single nod and finger point that said late-breaking news would now broadcast throughout all of Macon and middle Georgia, courtesy of WGXA’s dominant transmitters.

Adrenaline pumped through Lexie’s frame as she began to speak. No matter how many news stories she’d done throughout her years in Atlanta and now in Macon, she still couldn’t control the sickening urge that occurred with each and every reported homicide. The niggling, burning curiosity that questioned whether she’d announced another of
his
kills, and the intense yearning to be the one who proclaimed that the Sunrise Killer had been caught. But while she’d wondered several times if she’d get the chance to cover the story, tonight’s anxiety was different. This time, she didn’t feel curious about the killer’s identity; she knew.

She gripped the microphone even tighter and looked into the camera. Was he watching her now? “This is Lexie McCain with late-breaking news. Macon Police have recovered a victim of homicide at this home in the western part of the city.” She shifted her weight so Henry could film the tiny white clapboard house. “The victim, Camille Evelyn Talton, known as Cami, was found by her landlord this evening and had reportedly been murdered several weeks ago. Ms. Talton was employed by Dowdy Paper Mill and was in her sixth month of pregnancy. Police are investigating possible motives and suspects; however, if you have any information regarding the case, please call the Macon County Police Department at the number listed on the screen.” She paused, swallowed, fought the urge to go ahead and let the public know that they were, once again, dealing with the Sunrise Killer then concluded with, “This is Lexie McCain reporting in Macon for WGXA.”

Henry put his camera back in the news van, then disconnected cables and lighting, while Lexie turned and looked at the tiny house where the murdered woman had lived. Had she known the man? Had she called for help? And then, the obvious questions, given the police had already informed the public of her prenatal status. Was she blonde? And was she single? Because if Cami Talton was blonde, single and pregnant, then she met every criteria of the Sunrise Killer’s victims, and she would authenticate Lexie’s belief that, once again, he’d returned to Macon.

“You ready to head back?” Henry packed the last of his equipment in the cluttered van.

Lexie nodded then turned away from the house where a woman and her unborn child lost their lives.

“You think they’ll get him?” Henry asked as they crossed through the darkened city.

“I don’t know.”
But, I promise, this time, I will
.

After her segment aired again the following morning, Lexie stepped outside the station to get a breath of fresh air and nearly walked right into John Tucker. As in Detective John Tucker, the one man in town who made her nervous and the man she’d be dealing with 24/7
if
she got the story.

“Lexie McCain.” His deep voice caused a ripple of goose bumps along her skin.

“Detective Tucker.”  She nodded. “It’s good to see you.”

His smile said he knew she wasn’t so certain of the statement
. “Good to see you too.”

She worked to control her racing heart and made herself smile until he disappeared inside the building
. Then she shook her head to clear it from the fog the mesmerizing male had on her senses. No man had ever had this effect on her, not even Phillip, but the tall detective with the baby blue eyes, waves of black hair and daunting smile did
something
. He would be the head detective on the case, no doubt. And if she got the ongoing story, she’d work with him around the clock.

Fine
. She could handle the notable detective. But could she handle everything she’d learned about him over the past eight months? Could she handle knowing he’d been a potential suspect in the 1999 murders?  

But he hadn’t been found guilty, and the District Attorney, Warren Young, insisted the profiler’s claim unfounded
. There’d been no evidence beyond the detective’s match to the FBI profile generated for the killer. Nevertheless, John Tucker had worked to prove his innocence ever since, begrudging the marring of his stellar reputation as Macon’s best guy in homicide.

Last fall, Lexie had covered Tucker’s heroics when he’d gone head-to-head with a child killer and emerged the victor
. She’d admired his honesty, been impressed with his determination and believed in his innocence regarding the Sunrise Killer’s crimes.

So why did he still make her nervous
?

She waited a moment to gather her bearings then went inside to start working on her formal request for lead reporter of the story, a bigger story than everyone realized. A premeditated plan that began twenty-eight years ago with a killer that had haunted Lexie’s nights just as long
. She couldn’t let it fade into the background. Therefore, she remained at her desk the majority of the day banging out her frustration on her computer keys as she generated the extensive report that would prove to her boss that they were indeed dealing with the Sunrise Killer.

And she fought to keep her mind off the handsome homicide detective and the way those blue eyes seemed to see straight to her soul.

Clipped articles, photographs and notes wallpapered her cubicle. Not her own award-winning stories from twelve years as a television news correspondent in Atlanta, or even from the noteworthy segments that had aired during her current stint at WGXA, Macon’s smaller station. Oh no, nearly three decades of details regarding Macon’s Sunrise Killer covered every stitch of gray particleboard. A constant reminder of the reason she moved back eight months ago. No way would she allow another broadcast journalist to get the story of a lifetime, the story of
her
lifetime, seniority or not.

She read the last words on her computer screen, decided she’d covered the reasons she should receive the coveted story and hit the print key. Then she waited for twenty-four pages of information to spit out while preparing to hit her boss with her biggest request yet, one that Paul Kingsley better grant. Unless he wanted to battle Lexie on a daily basis.

True, she was the newest correspondent on WGXA’s talented team, but she was also the most renowned. Lexie made a name for herself in Atlanta. The people of Georgia knew her, respected her and appreciated her tenacity for the truth. However, she hadn’t used her name to get more money from the station, hadn’t asked for any favors in order to take the job at the smaller station and hadn’t bucked any other reporter from the bigger stories. Until now.

Although Kingsley didn’t know it, and she’d never confide the truth, she’d worked so hard in
Atlanta to get to this station,
this
story. It’d been her sole motivation for returning to Macon, in spite of her comfortable life in the bigger city. And she’d waited for
this
story since...well, longer than any of her coworkers realized.

She snatched the first three pages off the ever-chugging printer and scanned her text. Perfect. Succinct. Would Paul give her the assignment? Would he agree they were dealing with the Sunrise Killer? Because Lexie knew it as well as she knew
she
had to cover the story.

Kingsley couldn’t argue with her abilities. He’d described her on more than one occasion as the “best investigative reporter in Georgia,” which meant Lexie McCain had the best chance of helping the police stop the monster who’d plagued her for years. A monster that deserved to be caged.

She grabbed another handful of pages, shuffled them into place, then stacked them on her desk while the printer spat, coughed and jammed. Clenching her teeth, she popped the lid, yanked out the paper obstruction, and hit the reset button. Then she noted the last printed page and kicked off the remainder of her report once more. She needed to get this thing printed and on Paul’s desk.

For the past twenty-four hours, since Cami Talton’s body had been found, Lexie had pleaded her case for this story, the full story, not the one she’d already covered on the evening and morning news. However, Paul had yet to admit Macon’s notorious serial killer had returned.

“It’s been seven years, McCain,” he’d said. “How can you be sure this murder is related to the others? We don’t want to scare the public without cause. The mayor has already called over here more times than I can count to ensure we don’t panic, and that we don’t cause his community to panic.”

“It’s him.” In two more days, Lexie would know for sure. Easter Sunday. His very first kill occurred on Easter Sunday, and in each series that followed, he’d had an Easter kill. He would again; Lexie knew it. Why didn’t Paul? They needed to warn the city. They needed to warn all women who were blonde, single and pregnant. And they needed to do it fast.

Her printer jammed again and she banged the side of the hunk of junk. How she missed the state-of-the-art equipment she’d left at the Atlanta station. But the killer reigned in Macon; therefore, she was where she wanted to be, ancient printer or not.

“You okay, Lex?” Melody Harper poked her head around the side of Lexie’s cubicle. A plump woman in her late fifties, she had purple-gray hair and granny glasses daring to tip off the end of her nose. Melody hadn’t bothered getting out of her chair, but instead wheeled it across the threadbare carpet to check on her friend.

“Yeah.” Lexie managed a grin while fighting a grimace. She pressed reset, and the thing started up without requiring her to resend pages.

“You think it’s him, don’t you?” Melody leaned into Lexie’s space, keeping her chair outside the narrow opening. She looked around, cupped one hand around her mouth and whispered, “The Sunrise Killer.” She indicated the multiple forms of media lining her friend’s walls.

“Don’t you?”

“I hope not.” Melody frowned. “My daughter-in-law, Delia, is expecting. And she’s blonde.”

Lexie’s chest clenched. “Maybe it isn’t him this time.” Did that sound reassuring?

Melody’s round face drained of color. “Yeah, maybe it isn’t him.”

“And Delia’s married.”

The older woman’s tense shoulders relaxed. Then she scooted her chair back to the next cubicle and banged her keyboard to prepare the lead-in to tonight’s news, or to send an email of warning to her daughter-in-law. If the latter were the case, Lexie wouldn’t stop the woman.
Lexie also wanted to warn the world. Before Easter, if possible.

Her printer stopped, and the paper light flashed.

“God, please help me.” She flipped the latch on the tray, pulled a ream from her supply shelf and ran a finger along the end to remove the outer cover. The thick paper sliced her flesh, and a thin smudge of red marred the end of the white sheets. Lexie popped the stinging finger in her mouth, jabbed paper in the tray and slammed it closed. The printer moaned but then continued, while Lexie focused on the very first newspaper article identifying the madman.

April 7, 1985. Easter Sunday.

A murder rarely happened in Macon at that time. Molly Taylor’s bright smile, big round eyes and long blonde hair seemed to bring her to life from the center of the front page. But nothing could bring her back. He’d taken her, and since then, he’d taken twenty-seven more. Yet it had all started with Molly Taylor, and no one knew why. What role did she play in this maniac’s plan?

Lexie had learned through covering Atlanta’s I-20 rapist that the first kill spoke volumes about a serial killer, but no one had ever determined how Molly Taylor factored into the killer’s initiative. Why her? And what did the church where they found her body have to do with it?

That year, as they did every Easter, a group from several Macon churches met at the Coleman Hill Park downtown for the sunrise service. However, on that particular year, they saw more than a pristine yellow-gold Georgia sunrise. A young blonde woman, her belly swollen with the child she’d lost, lay dead in the center of the park.

At eighteen, Molly Taylor had been pregnant, blonde and single, three factors later determined as the killer’s signature criteria. He’d beaten her and strangled her, killing both the woman and her unborn child, then left her face up in the center of the park with her hands resting on her belly, the same pose in which the remaining victims were found that year. Macon lost six women at his hand in ‘85 and never had the first lead toward identifying the killer. When 1986 came and went, the city thought it’d seen the last of the monster. But seven years after his first kill, he returned. And at the end of 1992, seven more women, all blonde, pregnant and single, were dead.

Then in 1999, he was back. And once again, at the end of the year, the police had no leads and no killer behind bars. But seven more women dead.

Ditto for 2006.

Now, seven years later, another blonde, single and pregnant woman had been murdered in Macon. Yesterday, Cami Talton’s body had been found in her home. Although his killings occurred outdoors during that very first year, he’d since veered from the pattern. The last twenty-two women had been murdered in their homes, where they should have been safe, and left presented atop their own beds with each blonde head resting on a pillow, hands resting on the stomach of a lost child and the covers beneath smooth and unwrinkled. “Not even a hair out of place,” one cop had claimed, when interviewed about a victim in the 1999 spree.