Dead Wrong (8 page)

Rather than get into that discussion there in her driveway—he was leaving that little song and dance in Annie’s hands—Aidan followed Mara around the car to the front of the house and waited on the walk while she unlocked the door. The second the door opened, a small brown-and-white dog raced past Mara to stand and bark at Aidan territorially from the top step.

“Spike! It’s okay. He’s a friend,” she called to the dog who was intent on sniffing at Aidan’s shoes, all the while growling menacingly. “He’ll be all right as soon as you come inside.” Mara smiled weakly.

Aidan tried to ignore the dog by taking a step closer to the porch, which only caused Spike to growl more deeply.

“It’s okay, Spike,” she said, leaning over to pick up the dog, who continued to growl. “Sorry. He’s a pit bull trapped in the body of a Jack Russell terrier. He’ll be fine, really, after a bit.”

Aidan stepped inside and stood to one side of the door while she closed it.

“Annie should be here momentarily.” Mara put the dog on the floor. “Behave, Spike. Aidan, please have a seat. May I offer you something to drink?”

Spike sniffed at Aidan’s pants leg but the growling had ceased. Aidan wondered if it was safe to take those half dozen steps across the room to the sofa.

“Ah, well . . .”

“Tea, coffee, club soda, beer, water . . .”

“A beer would be fine. Thanks.” He took a seat on the sofa.

Spike continued his busy sniffing—he was up to Aidan’s knees now—and Aidan offered his open hand for the dog to investigate. Having completed his interrogation-by-nose, Spike apparently decided that their visitor was okay and jockied himself into a position where Aidan would be forced to pat his head.

Aidan heard water running in the kitchen and the sounds of cupboard doors closing lightly. He took the opportunity to look around the living room and take stock of its contents.

The slightly worn but comfortable sofa and one chair were covered in a faded blue plaid. A narrow wing chair and ottoman in coordinating floral fabrics stood near a brick fireplace. Photographs lined a short wall near a hall that lead to somewhere back in the house. Aidan wanted to get up to look at the photos at closer range but wasn’t sure if any movement on his part would set off the dog again.

Mara returned with a blue-and-white mug of coffee in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. She passed the beer to Aidan and said, “I’ll just get you a glass . . .”

“Don’t bother,” he said as he raised the bottle to his lips.

Annie knocked on the door frame, then entered the house, frowning. “I thought we agreed that you’d keep the door locked.”

“You said when I was alone in the house,” Mara replied. “And as you can see, I am not alone. . . .” She gestured toward Aidan.

“Hello, pup.” Annie laughed as Spike jumped straight up and down by way of greeting. “And hello, Aidan. I see you made it. The directions were okay?”

“The directions were fine, thanks.”

Annie removed the jacket that matched her dress and folded it carefully over the arm of the wing chair. “I’ll just pop into the kitchen and make myself a cup of tea. I’ve had a hellacious day.”

“There’s still hot water,” Mara told her. “Do you want me to make it for you?”

“No, thanks. I don’t mind.” Annie called from the kitchen, “Was there any mail? Any good catalogs?”

“On the counter,” Mara replied.

“Annie lives here now?” Aidan asked.

“She stays here when she’s working in the area. She still has the apartment in Virginia, but she keeps some things here. Sometimes it’s more convenient for her.”

“So much nicer than a hotel, and I have the company of my sister and her little dog, who, as you can see, clearly adores me.” Annie smiled as she entered the room, Spike leaping up and down at her side like a yo-yo. She sat in the wing chair, placed her teacup on the small side table, and slipped a dog biscuit to Spike.

“Where are you living now?” Mara turned to Aidan. “Weren’t you living somewhere near the beach?”

“Rehoboth, Delaware. Still.”

“Are we finished with the small talk?” Annie glanced at her watch. “I’m taking a ten forty-five flight to Chicago and I still have to pack.”

“I didn’t know you were leaving tonight.” Mara looked up at her sister.

“I wasn’t aware myself until about three hours ago.” Annie took a sip of tea. “Aidan, I’m grateful that you decided to come.”

“I told you I’d be here,” he said without emotion.

“Well, the timing is excellent, since my leaving frees up the guest room, and you can—”

“What are you talking about?” Mara’s head snapped up.

“I’ve asked Aidan to stay here to keep an eye on things,” Annie said calmly.

“You never said anything about him staying.” Mara’s jaw set.

“Didn’t I?” Annie murmured, sipping her tea. “I was certain that I had.”

“You know you did not.” Mara glared at her sister, then turned to Aidan. “No offense, but I don’t want . . . I don’t need—”

“You
do
need, Mara,” Annie said before Aidan could open his mouth. “You do need someone here with you. All three of our Mary Douglases were attacked in their home.”

“I’ve been keeping my doors locked.”

“So did Mary Douglas numbers one and two. It didn’t keep him out. I’m sorry, sweetie, but Aidan stays until this is over.”

“The husband of Mary number three was home when the killer arrived, and was, if you recall“—Mara was beginning to steam—”shot in the back of the head, and his body dumped by the side of the road.”

“The husband of Mary number three didn’t carry a Sig Sauer and wasn’t trained by the FBI to use it,” Annie reminded her.

“You have a gun?” Mara turned her attention to Aidan.

He nodded.

“Let me see it.”

“It’s in a bag in the trunk of my car.”

“Fat lot of good it does there.”

“I plan on bringing it in.”

“I don’t mean to insult you, but I don’t think I want”—she paused—“anyone living here.”

“Fine with me.” Not one to pass up a good excuse once it was offered to him, Aidan shrugged and started to stand. He’d passed a small motel on his way into town that looked as if it would suit just fine. “So if it’s all the same to you, Annie, I’ll just—”

“It’s not fine, and it’s not all the same to me, Aidan, so sit down. You’re not leaving.” Annie turned to Mara. “And like it or not, he stays. Do I need to remind you that there’s a man out there who’s killing women—M. Douglases—in order out of the phone book—”

“And I’m next. No.” Mara blew a long breath out of the corner of her mouth. “No, you don’t need to remind me.”

“Then act like it.” Annie turned to Aidan. “And you decide right now, are you going to stay and do the job, or are you going to bolt the first time she gives you an opening?”

“I’ll stay.” His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t argue.

“Fine. I have enough on my plate right now without worrying about my sister being raped and stabbed to death by some wacko, okay?”

“Okay, okay.” Mara reached over to grab one of Annie’s hands. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her sister this agitated. “We’re on board, Annie.”

“So, if we’re done with the pleasantries,” Aidan said dryly, “what have you got by way of a profile?”

“Not much,” Annie admitted. “Oh, we know the basics. He’s white—all of his victims have been white. He’s in his thirties, most likely living alone. He’s probably got a job where he works a shift—”

“How do you know those things?” Mara interrupted.

“Well, I don’t know for certain, Mara. Profiling isn’t always exact. It’s merely our best educated guess. Most serial killers choose their victims from within their own ethnic group, so we feel he is white, like his victims. He’s exhibited such proficiency, such meticulousness and attention to detail, I expect it’s taken him several years to perfect such technique. He’s probably been experimenting for a while. And he’s patient. Not an amateur, not a kid.” Annie sipped her tea. “All the murders occurred at the same time of the day, which speaks to routine. I think he must have conducted some sort of surveillance on his victims. He’d know what time they left in the morning, what time they arrived home later in the day. That takes planning, mobility. If you’re living with someone, a wife or a girlfriend, it’s more difficult to disappear for the number of hours necessary to get a handle on someone else’s daily schedule.”

“I’d think late at night would be a more likely time to break into someone’s house if you were going to commit a murder.”

“It’s not uncommon for people to be a little distracted when they first arrive home at the end of the day. There’s mail to be sorted through, phone messages to listen to, dogs to walk.” Annie looked directly at her sister. “I’ve come here countless times to find the front door unlocked and you listening to the messages on your answering machine at the same time you’re putting the leash on Spike to take him out.”

“Distractions.” Mara nodded.

“Right. I think he has his victims picked out in advance, knows what time he’ll find them home. Then he swings by, does his thing, then goes on home or goes to work.”

“No witnesses?” Aidan asked.

“None who have come forward. But that’s not so unusual. Sometimes we see things and don’t realize what we’ve seen. We see a delivery truck, but we don’t really look at the person making the delivery. We just don’t notice. So yes, of course, someone may have seen our man but isn’t even aware of it. Distractions, as we’ve said.” Annie cleared her throat. “But to continue, our UNSUB—our unknown subject, the killer—is highly organized. The crime scenes were staged. There was nothing out of place, nothing to suggest that all did not go according to his plan. He brought his own tools—his rope, his duct tape, his knife—and he took everything with him when he left. There was nothing left to chance. He is physically strong—strong enough to overpower his victims with very little apparent struggle on their part. The wounds on all of the Marys were made with the same knife—each body bore exactly six stab wounds to the chest, any one of which could have been the killing blow—but other than the victims bleeding out, there was no other blood found on the premises. The women were all sexually assaulted, but all were fully dressed and seated almost primly when they were found, though that fact hasn’t been released to the media.”

“He raped them, then straightened out their clothing and posed them?” Aidan asked.

“Yes. The rapes were missed until the autopsies, actually. Nothing at the scene immediately indicated that there had been a sexual assault.”

“Is that unusual?” Mara asked.

Annie nodded. “Very. More often than not, the rapist wants to humiliate his victim. He wants her to know that he has power over her, that he can use her and discard her because she’s unimportant to him in every way except one, and he wants everyone to know that. Here, we have a rapist who not only takes care not to tear his victims’ clothing, but makes sure that they are fully dressed, covered up, seated with their feet crossed neatly at the ankles. Very unusual, in my experience. Aidan? Have you seen anything like this before?”

“I’ve seen some highly organized crime scenes, but nothing quite that detailed.”

“And here’s something else that hasn’t made the news,” Annie continued. “The women were all blindfolded. At least, they were when the bodies were found. I’m pretty sure that they were blindfolded during the rapes. It would follow, since he made sure each woman was positioned so modestly for the police to find.”

“Blindfolded?” Aidan’s eyebrows rose.

“Yes. Does that mean something to you?” Annie turned to him with interest.

“A blindfold he brought with him?”

“We’re assuming, since he used identical classic red-and-white bandannas on all three victims. All purchased at a national chain store.”

“Available anywhere in the country.”

“Yes. As were the rope and the duct tape. All so generic and commonly available, they could have been purchased in Maine or here in Lyndon.” Annie was watching Aidan’s face. There’d been a shadow of . . . something. . . . “Ring any bells?” she asked.

“There was a case a couple of years ago where the killer used a scarf that belonged to the victim to cover her face. Not really the same, though, as bringing something with you, something purchased for just that purpose.” Aidan rubbed his chin and appeared thoughtful. “And here we have someone who breaks into his victims’ homes, ties them up, blindfolds them so that they can’t see what he’s going to do to them, rapes them, then makes sure that their clothing is back on neatly before he goes wild with the knife.”