“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.”
Chapter 36
Karma
In Lancaster’s experience, there was no better way to get a suspect inside a dwelling to drop their guard than by posing as an Amazon delivery person. This was especially true in South Florida, where Amazon was the preferred online retailer for many residents.
Delivery people for Amazon did not wear uniforms but did their jobs in street clothes. The vehicles they drove were their own, and had no decals or roof signs. Best of all, they did not have assigned routes but constantly moved around. A customer might receive a package from an Indian gentleman wearing a turban one day, a fetching college coed with purple hair and a brass ring in her nose the next. Customers were accustomed to not seeing the same delivery person, and as a result, they did not become suspicious when a stranger showed up on their doorstep holding a clipboard and carrying a cardboard box with the iconic Amazon logo stamped on its sides.