idea what those initials meant, she had tagged him as Kenny Lee. According to a reference years ago, Kenny Lee had a background in law enforcement but she had no idea how that career came to an end. She knew he had lost a brother in an unsolved murder, a cold case that haunted him and drove him to his present calling. “Well hello, Kenny Lee,” she mumbled.
She replied: How many hours?
Less than three.
Okay.
She had never heard his voice and had no idea if he was eighty or forty. They had been involved in whatever their relationship could be called for almost ten years. She said to herself, “Let’s see what you have, Kenny Lee.”
His rate was $200 an hour and she could not afford any surprises. He was a freelance investigator, a lone gunman who worked for no one and anyone who was willing to pay his rate. He worked for the families of victims, small-town cops in dozens of states, the FBI, investigative journalists, novelists, and Hollywood producers. For those seeking data on violent crime, he was the source. He seldom left his basement and lived online digging, trolling, gathering, reporting, and selling his data. He absorbed murder statistics from all fifty states and probably spent more time in the FBI’s violent crime clearinghouse than anyone inside or outside the Bureau.
When the issue was murder, and especially unsolved murder, Kenny Lee was the man. Above the table, he ran his little business through a Bangor lawyer who handled his contracts and wire transfers of fees. All of his business was word of mouth, and quiet words at that. KL did not advertise and could say no to anyone. Under the table, he used aliases and coded emails and took his fees in cash, anything to protect the identity of his clients and the killers they were stalking.
An hour later, Jeri was sitting in the dark, waiting, asking herself what she would do if KL had another victim. He wasn’t always right. No one could be. Ten months earlier, KL had appeared from the clouds and reported on a strangulation in Kentucky that at first looked promising. Jeri paid him for four hours of work, then spent two months digging before she hit a dead end, a rather abrupt one, when the police arrested a man who confessed.
KL had sent a note and said too bad, those are the breaks. He followed thousands of cases around the country, and many of them were old and would never be solved.
Each year in the United States there were about three hundred murders officially categorized as suffocation/strangulation/asphyxiation. Half involved a lunge for the throat to end a domestic disagreement, and those were usually solved in short order.
The rest involved strangulation, the act of wrapping something violently around the neck, with the murderer routinely leaving behind the ligature. Electrical cords, belts, bandanas, baling wire, chains, bootlaces, coat hangers, and ropes and cords of many makes and varieties. The same type of nylon rope used to kill her father was used all the time. It was readily available in stores and online.
Most of the murders in the second category were never solved.
Her laptop pinged, and she opened it and went through her authentication protocols and typed in her passcodes. It was Kenny Lee:
Five months ago, in Biloxi, Mississippi, Harrison County, victim name of Lanny Verno was found strangled. No crime scene photos yet but maybe soon. Description of ligature sounds close. 3/8 inch nylon rope tied off with the same knot to keep pressure on. Severe head wound, probably before death. Deceased was 37 years old and working as a house painter, killed on the job, no witnesses. However, a complication. The police think a witness appeared at the wrong time and met the same fate, minus the rope. Severe head wounds. Police believe second victim had stopped by to give Verno a check—it was Friday afternoon and Verno was expecting a check—and the second murder was not planned. The Verno murder was definitely planned. No crime scene
She replied: How many hours?
Less than three.
Okay.
She had never heard his voice and had no idea if he was eighty or forty. They had been involved in whatever their relationship could be called for almost ten years. She said to herself, “Let’s see what you have, Kenny Lee.”
His rate was $200 an hour and she could not afford any surprises. He was a freelance investigator, a lone gunman who worked for no one and anyone who was willing to pay his rate. He worked for the families of victims, small-town cops in dozens of states, the FBI, investigative journalists, novelists, and Hollywood producers. For those seeking data on violent crime, he was the source. He seldom left his basement and lived online digging, trolling, gathering, reporting, and selling his data. He absorbed murder statistics from all fifty states and probably spent more time in the FBI’s violent crime clearinghouse than anyone inside or outside the Bureau.
When the issue was murder, and especially unsolved murder, Kenny Lee was the man. Above the table, he ran his little business through a Bangor lawyer who handled his contracts and wire transfers of fees. All of his business was word of mouth, and quiet words at that. KL did not advertise and could say no to anyone. Under the table, he used aliases and coded emails and took his fees in cash, anything to protect the identity of his clients and the killers they were stalking.
An hour later, Jeri was sitting in the dark, waiting, asking herself what she would do if KL had another victim. He wasn’t always right. No one could be. Ten months earlier, KL had appeared from the clouds and reported on a strangulation in Kentucky that at first looked promising. Jeri paid him for four hours of work, then spent two months digging before she hit a dead end, a rather abrupt one, when the police arrested a man who confessed.
KL had sent a note and said too bad, those are the breaks. He followed thousands of cases around the country, and many of them were old and would never be solved.
Each year in the United States there were about three hundred murders officially categorized as suffocation/strangulation/asphyxiation. Half involved a lunge for the throat to end a domestic disagreement, and those were usually solved in short order.
The rest involved strangulation, the act of wrapping something violently around the neck, with the murderer routinely leaving behind the ligature. Electrical cords, belts, bandanas, baling wire, chains, bootlaces, coat hangers, and ropes and cords of many makes and varieties. The same type of nylon rope used to kill her father was used all the time. It was readily available in stores and online.
Most of the murders in the second category were never solved.
Her laptop pinged, and she opened it and went through her authentication protocols and typed in her passcodes. It was Kenny Lee:
Five months ago, in Biloxi, Mississippi, Harrison County, victim name of Lanny Verno was found strangled. No crime scene photos yet but maybe soon. Description of ligature sounds close. 3/8 inch nylon rope tied off with the same knot to keep pressure on. Severe head wound, probably before death. Deceased was 37 years old and working as a house painter, killed on the job, no witnesses. However, a complication. The police think a witness appeared at the wrong time and met the same fate, minus the rope. Severe head wounds. Police believe second victim had stopped by to give Verno a check—it was Friday afternoon and Verno was expecting a check—and the second murder was not planned. The Verno murder was definitely planned. No crime scene
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