U-District.”
“And in eighty-three, that entire family, back here on the Hill.” Khadijah scratched Becca’s hair lightly, as if comforting a cat. “The Walmacs—the parents and two kids. They’re all buried right across the street. Were you living here back then, Jo?”
“Yes, I grew up on the Hill.” Jo remembered little of the reports of the actual killings, or the spectacular news bulletins about Voakes’s eventual capture and trial. By her early teens, Jo’s parents couldn’t pry her from her bedroom and her books long enough to follow current events. “But all I really remember about Voakes is the public outrage when he ducked the death penalty.”
“This dick kills eight people in cold blood, two of them kids.” Marty’s tone was flat. “He sexually assaulted two of the women. I can’t abide capital punishment, but the dude deserved hard labor for life. Not ‘life’ like a twenty-year sentence; I mean hard labor every day for the rest of his miserable life. No question.”
“You would have made such a damn fine Amazon, Marty.” Becca looked at her with affection. “But when did you guys get this encyclopedic knowledge about serial killers? Why John William Voakes?”
“Kaddy saw an article about him in the Times yesterday, so we looked him up in the archives.” Marty traced a pattern on the rug beneath her bare feet. “Voakes was ex-military. He was a sharpshooter. He killed all his victims with one or two shots, not easy with a handgun. And he moved to Seattle in nineteen seventy-eight, not long before he started his crime spree. He moved here the same summer your parents died, Bec.”
Becca started to speak but looked at Jo instead.
“You’re suggesting that John William Voakes shot Becca’s parents?” Jo slipped the recorder from her pocket.
“Don’t jack the idea before we explain,” Marty said.
“I’m not at all.” Jo checked the device carefully and laid it on the coffee table. “Please continue.”
Marty frowned at the recorder. “Well, I would, except now I’m scared Becca’s mom is going to come ghosting out of that gadget at me.”
Jo approved of “ghosting” as a verb. “Who knows? Perhaps we’ll get lucky. You’re saying Voakes may have committed a crime a year before his first known murder. A crime he never confessed to.”
“He never confessed to any of them.” Marty scowled. “The asswipe claims he’s completely innocent, to this day. Mind you, this in spite of solid physical evidence, and getting caught fleeing the last damn scene with blood all over him.”
“There’s never been any doubt the man’s guilty.” Khadijah sounded less adamant than Marty but equally invested in discussing this theory. “The police never considered him when it came to the Healys, but…”
“The police never considered anyone but Madelyn Healy,” Becca murmured.
“Right?” Khadijah nodded. “The deaths of your mom and dad were way off the cops’ radar by the time the Voakes thing broke.”
“The police report on your parents’ shootings was not overly detailed.” Jo searched her memory. “The forensics back in the late seventies were still pretty rudimentary. Based on my very limited knowledge of crime investigations, the patterns drawn of the scene and the ballistics report could have been consistent with a murder/suicide. Given Madelyn’s history of mental instability and their history of arguing—”
Jo broke off, appalled that she might have mistepped again, but Becca was watching her calmly.
“So it’s feasible that the cops missed the possibility of an outside shooter.” Becca cleared her throat thoughtfully. “But wasn’t Voakes’s first known killing a robbery gone wrong? A house burglary or something?”
“Yeah, he robbed his first two victims, ransacked their places,” Marty said. “After that, the cops think he just caught a taste for murder. No more robbery, just thrill killing.”
“My nomination for the crappiest
“And in eighty-three, that entire family, back here on the Hill.” Khadijah scratched Becca’s hair lightly, as if comforting a cat. “The Walmacs—the parents and two kids. They’re all buried right across the street. Were you living here back then, Jo?”
“Yes, I grew up on the Hill.” Jo remembered little of the reports of the actual killings, or the spectacular news bulletins about Voakes’s eventual capture and trial. By her early teens, Jo’s parents couldn’t pry her from her bedroom and her books long enough to follow current events. “But all I really remember about Voakes is the public outrage when he ducked the death penalty.”
“This dick kills eight people in cold blood, two of them kids.” Marty’s tone was flat. “He sexually assaulted two of the women. I can’t abide capital punishment, but the dude deserved hard labor for life. Not ‘life’ like a twenty-year sentence; I mean hard labor every day for the rest of his miserable life. No question.”
“You would have made such a damn fine Amazon, Marty.” Becca looked at her with affection. “But when did you guys get this encyclopedic knowledge about serial killers? Why John William Voakes?”
“Kaddy saw an article about him in the Times yesterday, so we looked him up in the archives.” Marty traced a pattern on the rug beneath her bare feet. “Voakes was ex-military. He was a sharpshooter. He killed all his victims with one or two shots, not easy with a handgun. And he moved to Seattle in nineteen seventy-eight, not long before he started his crime spree. He moved here the same summer your parents died, Bec.”
Becca started to speak but looked at Jo instead.
“You’re suggesting that John William Voakes shot Becca’s parents?” Jo slipped the recorder from her pocket.
“Don’t jack the idea before we explain,” Marty said.
“I’m not at all.” Jo checked the device carefully and laid it on the coffee table. “Please continue.”
Marty frowned at the recorder. “Well, I would, except now I’m scared Becca’s mom is going to come ghosting out of that gadget at me.”
Jo approved of “ghosting” as a verb. “Who knows? Perhaps we’ll get lucky. You’re saying Voakes may have committed a crime a year before his first known murder. A crime he never confessed to.”
“He never confessed to any of them.” Marty scowled. “The asswipe claims he’s completely innocent, to this day. Mind you, this in spite of solid physical evidence, and getting caught fleeing the last damn scene with blood all over him.”
“There’s never been any doubt the man’s guilty.” Khadijah sounded less adamant than Marty but equally invested in discussing this theory. “The police never considered him when it came to the Healys, but…”
“The police never considered anyone but Madelyn Healy,” Becca murmured.
“Right?” Khadijah nodded. “The deaths of your mom and dad were way off the cops’ radar by the time the Voakes thing broke.”
“The police report on your parents’ shootings was not overly detailed.” Jo searched her memory. “The forensics back in the late seventies were still pretty rudimentary. Based on my very limited knowledge of crime investigations, the patterns drawn of the scene and the ballistics report could have been consistent with a murder/suicide. Given Madelyn’s history of mental instability and their history of arguing—”
Jo broke off, appalled that she might have mistepped again, but Becca was watching her calmly.
“So it’s feasible that the cops missed the possibility of an outside shooter.” Becca cleared her throat thoughtfully. “But wasn’t Voakes’s first known killing a robbery gone wrong? A house burglary or something?”
“Yeah, he robbed his first two victims, ransacked their places,” Marty said. “After that, the cops think he just caught a taste for murder. No more robbery, just thrill killing.”
“My nomination for the crappiest
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