B00CCYP714 EBOK (18 page)

Rainey had no choice when Katie put it that way. She turned to Molly. “Is there any legal reason I can’t carry a weapon?” She was going to help, but not unarmed.

Molly shook her head. “No, you are still licensed to carry in the state until otherwise notified.”

“Do you have a car, Colonel Asher? Mine was impounded.”

“That detective really doesn’t like you, does he?” Colonel Asher replied, his relief evident.

Rainey shook her head. “No, he doesn’t, so I’m without transportation at the moment.”

“You can ride with me,” he said. “I should take you to her apartment, so you can profile the vict—Bladen. I know you like to start there.”

Rainey looked at Katie. “And you’re all right with this?”

Katie smiled. “You go do what you do, catch this guy and find the Colonel’s daughter. The kids and I will be safe at home, I promise you.”

Rainey crossed the few steps to Katie, hugging her close and whispering in her ear. “I love you. Please stay home, no matter what. I’ll call you.” She gave Katie a kiss on the forehead, and turned back to Molly. “Keep that jackass, King, off my back for a few days, and get my car out of impound, if you can, before they have a chance to tear it apart.”

Molly answered Rainey’s request, “Leslie is out of town and my calendar is clear for the rest of the week, so I can focus on keeping you out of prison, but don’t give King an excuse to take you into custody. I’m also working on obtaining a copy of the security tapes from the hospital. Since we need them now to prove your timeline, finding the stalker will be a bonus.”

Colonel Asher looked confused. “You are suspected in a murder, a body was found in your backyard, and you have a stalker, too?”

Rainey smiled. “Welcome to the Rainey season, Colonel Asher.”

#

Bladen’s head lay next to the water bowl. Through much painful maneuvering, she had managed to consume some of the protein drink from the tube and inch around to the water, where she lapped at the contents like the dog the bowl was meant for. She still jumped each time the loud music burst into the room, and the dripping continued, but the nourishment had given her strength. She rested now, awaiting his return. Bladen had reached the low point and was now scratching her way back to the surface, where hope remained.

“Fight him, Bladen,” she whispered to herself. “Don’t give up.” She thought of her father. He would be looking for her by now. “Find me, Dad. I’ll hang on, but you have to hurry.”

The music blared out of the speaker. Bladen slammed her eyes shut against the demonic screams and the pain the flinching created between her legs. Immediately, her mind was flooded with the image of the red king cab truck that had recently begun parking in her assigned space at random times, forcing her to park in the dark guest area near the woods surrounding her apartment complex. She was walking to the isolated parking lot, talking to her parents on the phone, when she saw the truck backed into the adjacent parking space. She remembered being frustrated, because it had been in her assigned space earlier, and commented to her father about it. The memory failed at that point, replaced by the flash of being forced into that truck and then nothing.

Her phone—Bladen needed her dad to find her phone. Yes, there was hope. It warmed her from the inside out. She smiled for the first time since she awoke in this hellhole. Even though she told him he was paranoid, Bladen was always the good girl and did as he instructed, because Colonel Patrick Asher really did know a thing or two about life. She had learned to listen. He knew that boy she loved in high school was a poor choice and he was right. He knew the weather was going to turn bad, keeping her home and preventing her from being injured in the icy crash that nearly killed her best friend. He knew something was not right about that truck and told her so, asking her to write down the tag number and tell the apartment manager, but Bladen had done better than that.

“Look at my phone, Dad. I took a picture of his truck.”

#

The colonel spent the drive down from Durham to Rainey’s office talking about Bladen. The twenty-two-year-old was his pride and joy. She was an early education major, student teaching this semester and scheduled to graduate in May. No steady boyfriend at the moment, she was too focused on school. Most of her social interactions were among a small group of friends. Bladen had never been a discipline problem and was always a good student. She was an avid runner, a passion left over from her high school cross-country days. She was careful and smart, trained by a father who knew protective security measures, which made her a low risk for becoming a victim. Her abductor had put a great deal of planning into her capture. This told Rainey he liked the game, the hunt, the laying of the snare, as much as the springing of the trap.

Rainey listened carefully, forming a profile of the victim while she gave directions to the little house Bell’s Bail called home. A mile and a half from Chapel Hill on East Franklin Street, the location was selected because seven courthouses were seated within a forty-mile radius of the front door. It sat away from the adjacent businesses on a heavily wooded lot. Through the trees, it was barely possible to see the art gallery to the west and the secondhand store on the east. Ernie had a good eye for what Rainey would consider a safe distance from her neighbors, when the move to the new office was planned. Rainey was reluctant to leave her father’s home and the office on the lake, but she was able to visit often since Katie’s foundation bought the land and housed the women’s shelter there. She had also grown to like the centrally located new home of Billy Bell’s Bail. Rainey thought Billy would have approved.

After unlocking the door and silencing the alarm, Rainey led Colonel Asher through the living room/dining room area, which served as Ernie’s office. On the right, a hall led to bedrooms and the bathroom. Mackie used the front bedroom for his office space, which he graciously shared with Junior. The other bedroom housed records and office machines. The kitchen, in the back of the house and on the left, was on the way to the stairway leading to Rainey’s office over the attached garage. She liked the isolation, away from the foot traffic downstairs, and the fact no one could see in her windows. Rainey sometimes had things on the four dry-erase boards lining her walls that should be shielded from prying eyes. Like today, she realized, when she unlocked the door at the top of the stairs.

Two of the dry-erase boards were placed end to end along one of the long walls, and were dedicated to the serial rape cases. Photos of twelve women were taped along a timeline of the attacks, revealing their injuries, with handwritten notes under each. Shorthand notes, but enough was there to depict in graphic detail what the rapist said and did to them. A map hung on the wall near the timeline with red pushpins indicating where each rape took place. These were the notes and visual aids she used to work the case, things she would not hang on her office walls at home, things Rainey never meant a man searching for his missing daughter to see.

Rainey turned to him. “I’m sorry about the evidence photos, Colonel. I’m consulting on a serial rape case too.”

His eyes trailed over the pictures. “As bad as I hate to say this, after seeing what that animal did to the woman found behind your house,” he pointed at the photos, “I would rather my daughter be on that board than where I fear she is now.”

Rainey did not respond, because she would have reinforced his belief. If his daughter was in the hands of the man that held Jacquie, Bladen Asher was suffering a great deal more than those women on Rainey’s boards. It did not lessen the damage done the serial rape survivors. There was no comparative scale or degree of rape, as far as Rainey was concerned. She detested those that would diminish a rape survivor’s trauma, merely because she did survive, or because they deemed the resistance too ineffectual to have been a sincere effort. Unlike the deeds of the power assertive serial rapist displayed on Rainey’s boards, the man who probably held Bladen was a sadistic sexual murderer, whose gratification was gained from instilling terror and inflicting torturous pain on his victim, ultimately leading to death. Bladen would have fared better with the rapist. Her father knew that without Rainey’s confirmation.

After a moment more of studying the rape case boards, he spoke. “I’ve been following this case. I advised Bladen to go to your presentation Monday night.”

“That’s interesting,” Rainey said, walking to the white board to add a date and name to the timeline. She wrote Alana Minott’s name and yesterday’s date on the board. “This is the latest rape victim. She, too, attended that lecture.”

Colonel Patrick Asher was an experienced investigator, but it did not take a genius to see the common denominator here was Rainey. “If he was following Bladen, he might have been at your lecture. Maybe that’s why he left the body where he did.”

“The serial rapist was getting too much attention. They’re both narcissists and competing for the spotlight. The body was the killer’s coming out announcement.” Rainey walked over to the opposite wall where a large satellite image of the Triangle area hung. It was stuck with nine red pushpins. She placed another pin where Jacquie had been taken, and then asked, “Where did you say Bladen was abducted?”

The colonel pointed out Bladen’s address. Rainey pushed a pin in the location and took a step back from it.

“That fits,” she said, pointing at the map. “You see this rough circle the pins form. These are the missing women we think were all taken by the same guy.”

Rainey picked up a yardstick from the corner and measured the distance between several of the pins. Finding center, she pressed a blue pin in. Taking some yarn from a nearby table, she looped one end around the center pin. Measuring the scaled distance from the center to the outer most abduction location, she wrapped the loose end of the piece of yarn around a marker, and drew a circle on the map.

“He’s in here, within this twenty-mile radius, and I’m guessing somewhere near here.” She indicated an anomaly, a lone pin near the center point. “This was the first victim, we think. She was a college student, never came home after leaving a babysitting job. They found her car with a flat tire on the side of the road, here. He moved out to the prostitute areas for a while after that, and then found his preferred targets, young independent women.”

The colonel knew how to create a geographic profile. If he had the same information as Rainey, she was quite sure he would have come to the same conclusion. He was looking at the list of women and the dates they went missing, written on one of the other dry-erase boards.

“This timeline is all wrong,” he noted. “These first abductions were closer together than the last. They usually escalate, not grow further apart.”

“We couldn’t be certain it was the same guy, but after seeing the body this morning, I’m pretty sure it is. I think he was experimenting, learning which fantasies worked best for him. The body would indicate that he’s discovered he likes sadistic torture and that means spending more time with his victims.” Rainey saw the pained look cross the colonel’s face. “I’m sorry to be so frank with you.”

He waved her apology away. “No, no, I appreciate your honesty. It’s the only way we’ll find her.”

Concerns for the father aside, Rainey addressed the investigator he used to be. “Between these first abductions and the ones that began to space out, I think he was constructing his lair. In order to have the time to do what he did to the victim we know about, he had to have an isolated, private space, one not easily discovered by others.” She pointed at the map again. “See all this undeveloped land in the center, here. I’ll bet money his torture chamber is in there somewhere.”

“And that’s where we should look for the red truck,” the colonel answered.

Rainey smiled at him, heading for the gun safe on the office wall. “I think I have a friend who can help with that. First, let me get my weapon and then we’ll go to Bladen’s apartment. That will give the forensics team some time before we go look at her vehicle.”

Rainey opened the safe and took out the Beretta 92FS she kept there.

“M-9, good weapon,” Colonel Asher said.

“My favorite is the Glock 19, but since the police have that at the moment, this will do.”

He reached under his jacket, coming out with an M-9 of his own. “My favorite weapon is the one in my hand, when faced with a kill or die situation.”

“I hear that, Colonel. I most definitely hear that.”

#

In Bladen’s apartment, Rainey found the lodgings of a tidy, organized, young woman. She spoke as she walked the space, a habit that worked for her and her old partner, Danny, on many investigations. Her “partner” on this walkthrough happened to be the father of the victim, but she did not temper her remarks for him. She was not telling him things he did not know. He offered insights of his own, the investigator in him trying to contain the emotional father. Years of military training had allowed him to compartmentalize. Rainey admired this ability, because she knew all too well how hard it was to maintain those boxes, where monster hunters kept their most precious possessions, family.

“Your influence is evident, Colonel. Your daughter’s quarters are immaculate, closets and cabinets organized, minimal clutter, the home of a military man’s daughter.”

He opened the refrigerator, which was a cluttered mess of take-out containers. “Her rebellious side peeks through some of the spit and polish, though,” he said, grinning. “She also hates to cook.”

First grade worksheets were stacked neatly on the kitchen table, graded with smiley faces. Rainey recognized a few from helping Katie pack up her classroom when she resigned from the first grade teaching job she loved to recover from the trauma that changed her life. Rainey hoped Bladen could return those worksheets to her students personally, but every hour that crept by made that less and less likely.

“What do you see, Rainey?” The colonel asked, after she had been quiet for a moment.

“I see a young woman who added a dead bolt to her door, a pole lock on her balcony door, and I found a pistol in her bedside table drawer.”