Page 79 of Return of the Spider
Sampson shrugged. “I think of him as a guy who made some bad choices in his past but tried to live the right way. And who was willing to sacrifice his own freedom to avenge his nephew’s murder and end the Haitian heroin trade.”
“But—”
“Think about it, Alex,” Sampson said. “Costa could easily have decided to kill us too, so there would be no witnesses. Instead, he surrendered. His job was done. I’ll never say this in court, but I admire the guy in a Dirty Harry kind of way.”
“Maybe,” I said as we arrived at headquarters. I didn’t know exactly how to feel about it. We knew who’d killed the two boys, and we knew why. But the killers had received vigilante justice, and I remained conflicted about that.
To our surprise, when we entered the squad room, Detectives Diehl and Kurtz rose and began clapping. Chief Pittman came in and joined them. Soon the entire room of detectives was clapping.
For the first time, I felt fully accepted as a member of that elite investigative team, and I was deeply humbled.
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“welcome back,” chief pittmansaid when the applause died down. He shook our hands and gestured to the stacks of reports that had accumulated in our absence. “Pick up your open cases for now. Miller and Mansion are officially closed.”
I sat down at my desk and considered the pile of documents. I began to sort through the reports and quickly found forensics results from both of the Bulldog murder scenes and a copy of an extensive Fairfax County Sheriff’s Office report on the Brenda Miles crime scene, all of which had come in over the past few days. I set these aside for deeper study and forged on, looking over various leads and tips.
Several pertained to the now-closed Miller and Mansion cases. I scanned them but saw nothing to change my understanding of those murders. Halfway through the stack, I found a notefrom eight days ago asking me to call Kelsey Girard, a detective with the sheriff’s office in Goochland County, Virginia.
Subject:POSSIBLE KIDNAPPING/OLDER WHITE VAN.
I quickly picked up the phone and punched in the number.
A pleasant Southern voice answered on the fourth ring. “This is Detective Girard.”
I identified myself and apologized for not calling her back sooner. Girard said, “I’ve been reading all about you, Detective, and I know why you haven’t returned my call.”
“Just got back today,” I confirmed. “So, you had an older white van involved in a suspected kidnapping?”
“Correct,” she said. “A white van was seen in the vicinity of what we are investigating as a possible kidnapping down here. When I did some research, I came across notices of a similar white van suspected of belonging to your Berkowitz copycat, so I called you.”
I started taking notes fast as Girard laid out the story of her case. Within five minutes, I’d heard enough to want to know more.
“Can my partner and I drive down and visit the scene?” I asked. “Talk to the witness about what he saw?”
“I guess that would be okay,” the detective said after a moment. “When would you like to come?”
“We can be there in two and a half hours, tops.”
“That works,” she said. “I’ll give you the address and meet you there.”
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Detective kelsey girard ofthe Goochland County Sheriff’s Office was sitting on the hood of an unmarked squad car looking at the contents of a manila file when John Sampson and I pulled up on the gravel road off State Route 634.
Even in mid-November the vegetation on both sides of the road was so dense, we didn’t see the driveway snaking off until we were almost blocking its entrance.
“You might want to back your vehicle up twenty or thirty yards so I can better explain what all was found and not found,” said Girard, a lanky Black woman in her early forties.
Sampson backed up our car, and we got out and walked over to her. “Where was the van seen?” Sampson asked.
“All in due time,” she said.
“What about the witness?”
