Confessions of a Murderess

Witnesses

Vanessa Jones had been a fugitive since 2009, convicted of crimes of r**e and abduction of children and adolescents. According to authorities, the twenty-six-year-old woman is suspected to have a direct connection to the self proclaimed killer Quinn Solo — Andy Barton, ABN reporter.

There was a security door in Mr. Kravimberg's room that separated the second room from all the others. The house was a gray triplex located in a central area of Portsmouth, five kilometers away from the harbor. Kimberly's house was on the other side of the street, facing the furthest park from the museum.

On that fateful day, after her ballet class, Kimberly sat on the park benches, waiting for someone. Mr. Kravimberg's wife, Veronica Kravimberg, said she saw Kimberly talking to someone who was inside a black Citroen C3. After the conversation ended, the car turned around, and she skated down the alleys.

— Mrs. Veronica, are you sure it was a Citroen C3? — I asked.

— I am sure — she said.

— Did you see the license plate?

— No. It was far away, and I didn't have my glasses on.

— If you didn't have your glasses on, how could you recognize Kimberly?

— Well, no one has that red hair around here — she looked at my appearance — not on this street.

— Do you remember how the person inside the car looked physically? If you can, please tell me with all the details.

— It was an older man. He had a thick beard. His hair was white, and the style didn't match his round face. That's what my son thinks, that round faces don't go with straight hair like that. But I wouldn't know the eye color, because I'm nearsighted, and he was wearing sunglasses.

— And Kimberly?

— Kimberly was wearing a red leotard with a white skirt. Ballet slippers that went up to her ankles and colorful roller skates. I don't remember if she had knee pads, but she had hoop earrings and something on her arm.

— A bracelet? — I asked.

— I don't know... it could be. I'm not sure if it was a bracelet. It could've been a watch. I have two degrees of nearsightedness, remember? And without my glasses, I'm useless. — said Veronica.

The police couldn't find only two things from Kimberly; the organs that were removed from her and her cell phone. Even the roller skates she left in the dead-end alley were recovered. But none of the witnesses had previously mentioned a watch.

— Your testimonies will be very helpful for the investigations, Mrs. Veronica, be sure of that.

— Am I free to go?

— Yes.

— I hope the police can catch whoever did this to Kimberly. She was a very good girl. Good luck, Miss Norman.

Another witness said they had seen Kimberly moments before her disappearance. Ronald, the former library custodian of the museum, contacted the police directly. And I decided to interrogate him at the police station as a suspect.

— Mr. Ronald, where did you see Kimberly? — I asked.

— In the library bathroom. I had just finished cleaning it, and she was going in there. That was around 2:30 in the afternoon — he said.

— Was anyone with the girl?

— I understand you women tend to do these things together, but no, there was no one. Kimberly went in alone.

— I'm asking about the reception... Was anyone accompanying Kimberly at the reception? — I rephrased the question.

— I don't know, Miss Norman. The reception is in a lower part of the museum, hidden among the bookshelves. What I saw was a car parked on the sidewalk.

— What kind of car? — I opened my pen to take notes.

Ronald thought for a moment, hesitated, and then said:

— It looked like a black Citroen C3. I only saw it through one of the door windows.

The Portsmouth police station had never been as bustling as it was on the day of Ronald Wilson's interrogation. There were many papers on the desks, numerous messages in the voicemail, not to mention the conversations between Inspector Nortgen and the officers. Sarah had passed on to the Central the reports that Michael collected about the deaths of Olivia and Alice, while the forensic scientific police investigators made connections with the witnesses of Stacy's death.

Portsmouth was a relatively small city where many people knew each other. Even though the killer was skilled at hiding, it was inevitable not to go unnoticed when he himself chose the victims in a completely contradictory manner. I wasn't surprised to learn that Stacy and Kimberly had common friends, mostly teenagers from Month. Suzanne France, for example, an eyewitness to Stacy's death, knew both Stacy and Kimberly. And Kimberly's mother had been present at the casting session the promising model did for the Midday agency.

The question was no longer cornering Quinn Solo. He had been doomed since the FBI began acting. The borders of Portsmouth were surrounded by police, and everyone leaving or entering Virginia had to go through inspection. The question had shifted to how to apprehend him as quickly as possible to prevent more girls from dying.

— Mr. Ronald, one more question: do you know Dorothy France?

— I... I don't know her.

— One last thing before you walk out that door. We're keeping your cell phone.

— What did you say? — he blinked, not believing what he heard — Are you kidding?

— No, I'm not. We're keeping your cell phone by order of the court.

Dorothy was a vain woman, well-dressed and very elegant. She had married Robert France early, but at the age of forty-six, she had three children. The youngest was eleven-year-old Yasmin. Jeff, twenty-two, was the oldest. And seventeen-year-old Suzanne was the middle child. While Dorothy's husband specifically looked after the cattle, she and the girls managed the family business, a small cheese enterprise located within the farm itself.

Away from the barns, I saw a sign on the lawn announcing the cheese factory. There was light foot traffic. Some cars passed by. A red Fiat kicked up dust as it drove on the wrong side of the road, veered over the speed bump, and headed towards the harbor when it spotted the police. About ten minutes after I got out of the pickup and requested for the mother and daughter to be summoned, they appeared to greet me.

— Can we help you with something? — Dorothy asked.

— I'm an FBI investigator, Agent Norman — I showed my badge — By now, you must know the reason for my visit.

Suzanne froze when she looked at the pickup and saw me, but I didn't have a warrant in hand and could only rely on their goodwill for the interrogation. I explained the sequence of questions I would be asking. I asked them to give separate testimonies for one part and together for the other, and they agreed. Suzanne went first:

— Go ahead.

— You were the first person to see Stacy's corpse in Month — I stated. — What were you doing in that neighborhood?

— I go to school in Month.

— The main road is almost three kilometers away from school, Miss Suzanne?

— We got out of class around 5:00 PM, and that day the bus didn't come, like, due to a driver's strike. I don't like waiting, so I decided to walk.

— And you found Stacy's body where exactly?

— Behind a embankment, far from the road. It was wrapped in a satin scarf, with no fingers on her hands, no toenails, and with many injuries on her body. — Suzanne made a slight face of disgust. — Her breasts were exposed, partially covered in blood and red tulips. It was hard for me to see her in that state, and it must have been even harder for her family.

— Did you touch the body?

— No. It felt like someone was watching me. So I just... I just left and called the police later.

— Did you already know the whereabouts of the killer at that point?

— Yes. Quinn Solo became quite famous in the region, especially in school groups.

— And still decided to take a risk in an almost deserted place?

— I... I didn't think of it that way.