RAINEY DAYS (10 page)

Rainey checked the inside of the envelope again. There was nothing left inside. Mackie peered over her shoulder at the blank sheet of paper.

“That’s it just a blank sheet of paper?” Mackie commented.

Rainey took the flashlight from its holder on her waist. She clicked it on and examined the paper closely. She had not seen it at first, but there, in the center of the page, was a single letter, Y.

Rainey froze. She stared at the letter in disbelief. Then, as a reflex, her eyes darted around her in every direction. Mackie saw her reaction and immediately placed his hand on his hip, where his own Glock rested in its holster.

“What is it?” he asked, his eyes darting from the paper to his surroundings.

Rainey looked back down at the paper then turned to Mackie. In words that revealed her deepest fears, she simply said, “He found me.”

 

A little over a year ago, Rainey’s unit was contacted by a detective from the Raleigh area. He was working cases that involved the rape and murder of three women near the Capital, in downtown Raleigh. Due to the nature of the killings, the detective was positive he had a serial murderer on his hands.

The murders had been linked by the unusual signature of the killer. Each of the women had been a high priced escort, beautiful women who kept company with the rich and powerful men of the capital city. Each of the bodies had been found in Lake Johnston wrapped in contractor trash bags closed with duct tape. The most striking element of the murders was what assured the detective that the same suspect had committed all of the killings. The women had Y-incisions, like the medical examiner used during autopsies, their chests and abdomens sliced open.

Three more escorts had been reported missing during the same time as the other murders. The detective was sure the bodies of these women would soon surface at the Lake. He called the BAU in hopes that they would assist his department in searching for this killer. Rainey and her colleagues were dispatched to help analyze the crimes and develop an investigative plan to catch the murderer that the press had now dubbed, “The Y-Man Killer.”

The BAU members evaluated the victims, examined the dumpsites, pored over the initial crime reports, and closely analyzed the Medical Examiner’s report, which included viewing the bodies. The information was compiled and analyzed. Their conclusions helped direct the course of action taken by the investigators. What they found reiterated that the Triangle had a very sick boy on their hands.

The victims were high-class call girls, the kind of date a rich, lonely man could buy, in any upscale restaurant or hotel bar. Although the women were all beautiful and Caucasian, they were different physical types, one blond and petite, the other two tall and brunette. After talking with friends and associates of the victims, the investigators learned each of the women worked solo and usually took their dates to expensive, nearby hotel rooms. The victims were last seen in different locations. One disappeared from the Mayor’s Club in Chapel Hill, one from the Hampstead Spa in Cary, and the third was last seen at the Fourth Estate Restaurant and Tavern, in Raleigh. No one remembered seeing the victims leave with anyone. The location of the killings was still a mystery.

The autopsy reports revealed the cause of death as manual strangulation. The bruising on the victims’ necks showed large hands had squeezed the life out of them. The victims’ stomach contents suggested each had last eaten strawberries, chocolate and champagne. This indicated the women had gone willingly with the assailant and shared a last meal, shortly before their deaths.

At some point, a stun gun was used, leaving burn marks on the victims’ necks. There were no signs of defensive wounds or skin beneath the nails, indications that the women were rendered unconscious. Toxicology reports stated the women were drugged with a sedative given by intramuscular injection commonly used by dentist, before the practice of oral sedatives took its place. These drugs could also be found in a hospital or veterinarian office. The dosage indicated he used just enough to render the victims unconscious while he gained complete control over them and then re-dosed them later. There were ligature marks on the wrists and ankles where the victims were tied and marks, in and around the mouth, indicating a gag had been used.

The women were beaten; the pre-mortem bruising indicating the killer used his fists, in a fit of rage. The killer probably strangled his victims during the initial rape, but indications were the murderer had sex with the corpses shortly after death. There was no semen recovered from the bodies indicating he used a condom. A few dark head hairs were found, but contained no viable DNA. The Y-incisions were sliced into the victims’ skin postmortem. The depth of the incisions ended just below the skin, leaving the organs undamaged, the skin pulled back, as if the killer were peeking inside. It was the killer’s signature.

A timeline developed when the approximate time of death had been determined. One of the victims had been killed the previous November, followed by one in December and then another January. The three missing escorts had disappeared in consecutive months starting in February and ending in April. It was assumed the missing women would soon be found to be victims four, five and six. It was May and everyone was waiting to hear of the next missing woman or floating body.

The summation; they were dealing with a sexual murderer, an organized killer who planned and orchestrated his crimes. The man they were looking for was probably of average to above average intelligence. He was probably the first born or only son of an ambivalent mother and would have had a poor relationship with his father. He would have a poor quality of attachment with other family members as well. The discipline he received as a child would have been inconsistent and he was probably abused physically or sexually during his childhood and or adolescence.

The suspect would most likely be above average in looks and was probably over six feet tall and well built. He would be socially competent, able to move among people without suspicion. The organized killer would usually be involved in a relationship and live with that person. This suspect would be from the upper class and have disposable money. He would have a car in good condition and have a skilled job. The killer would also need a place to take his victims in order to insure privacy, while he committed his crimes.

The investigators were told to talk to the escorts and call-girls and give them a physical description of the killer. Female officers were placed undercover in high-end restaurants and hotel bars. Since all the bodies, found so far, had been dumped in Lake Johnston, more than likely tossed off the Advent Ferry Road Bridge dissecting the lake, stakeouts were scheduled in hopes of catching him drop off his next victim. Every single person involved was positive there would be a next victim.

It was at this time, on May tenth, that Rainey’s father was killed in a drive by shooting, while apprehending a gang banger, who had skipped out on his twenty-five thousand dollar bail. Billy Bell had stepped in front of Junior, when he saw the gun barrel flash, from the open window of the low rider crawling by. Junior was not hit, but Billy Bell took a bullet, straight in the heart and died instantly. Rainey had just eaten breakfast with him the day before. They were both happy she was working so close to home and spent as much time together as possible.

Rainey took two weeks off after her father’s funeral and then returned to the task force working the Y-Man murders. The fact that she was just a little over twenty miles from the bait shop office made taking care of her father’s estate business easier, but it did not ease the devastation she felt at the loss of the most important person in her life. Her mother’s side of the family was merely a supplier of genetic material, as far as Rainey was concerned. She hated everything they stood for, most of all their pretentiousness. Billy Bell had not only been her father, he was Rainey’s best friend. It was the first time she felt truly alone in her whole life. In hindsight, she was too emotionally disconnected to have returned to the field so soon, but she had asked to stay near home to close out her father’s business.

On the twenty-eighth of May, Rainey was sitting in a black SUV observing the Advent Ferry Bridge north entrance. The co-occupant of the vehicle was her fellow agent and longtime friend, Danny McNally. They had joined the BAU at about the same time and had a brother-sister relationship that meant they loved each other, but sometimes they fought. They had been parked near the boathouse since midnight and it was now almost four in the morning. Danny had obviously eaten something awful, because his stomach rolled incessantly. Rainey was one of the boys most of the time and suffered through their bathroom humor, but she drew the line at sharing farts. It particularly made her angry when they farted and did not warn anyone.

“Fuck you, Danny,” Rainey had shouted, “You could at least warn somebody.”

Rainey exited the vehicle, slamming the door behind her and walked past the boathouse, out on the footbridge that crossed the lake, paralleling the bridge. She was angry at the world these days. She stared at the moonlight sparkling across the hundred and fifty acre lake. It was surrounded by evergreen forest, complete with miles of greenway trails. Lake Johnston was beautiful this evening, but Rainey did not see it. Her mind was racing with unfulfilled revenge. Mackie and his posse had run down the gunman, four days after he killed her father, only to discover he was a fourteen-year-old boy, earning his way into a gang. He did not even know at whom he was shooting. Rainey’s revenge had no outlet, so it smoldered under her skin.

Rainey knew she had over reacted with Danny. His behavior was atrocious, but did not warrant her stomping off like that. She wondered if she should take some more time off to get her head straight. She could not concentrate or focus on the job, as she should, and she snapped at people, which was totally out of character for her. She couldn’t remember the last time she had a good night’s sleep. She stayed on the footbridge contemplating her situation for the next twenty minutes.

Rainey decided to head back to the vehicle, thinking she had probably been gone long enough for the air to clear. Maybe they should leave and find Danny a bathroom. She was just coming to the edge of the boathouse, still hidden from the view of the parking lot, when she heard something that made her stop. That was the last conscious thought she had until she awoke sometime later, in the killer’s lair.

Rainey knew she had been drugged. Her arms and legs felt heavy and her eyes could not focus on the room around her. She could tell she was in a bedroom. She could tell that she had been raped. She felt the mattress through the plastic under her naked body. She was tied by her wrists and ankles to the bedposts, splayed out and completely vulnerable. A cotton cloth was tied in a knot and stuffed in her mouth, the ends tied behind her head. She could hear music playing in the other room, but the Doppler Effect from the drugs made it impossible to make out what the song was.

She felt the burning ache on the side of her neck where she must have been hit with a stun gun. A shadow moved just out of her view. She could feel his presence, just inches from her. Her heart pounded in her ears, her breathing rapid and shallow. She tried to scream, but only primal, muffled, guttural sounds left her throat, blocked by the gag in her mouth.

“Oh goody, you’re awake. We can play now,” a voice said, over her right ear.

It was a man’s voice, but it sounded like an imitation of a small boy. The man moved into view. He was tall and muscular, completely naked, except for the black leather, sadist mask he wore over his head and face, latex gloves on his hands, and a condom on his penis. He carried a scalpel in his hand as he climbed on the bed and straddled her. He placed the scalpel on the bed, by her head. She was tied so tightly she could not move at all. Rainey was completely defenseless and about to die. No one knew where she was. She was alone with a psycho killer with no hope of rescue. Rainey’s only thought was she hoped he killed her fast.

The childlike voice squealed out in joy, “I’m so happy you were able to come over and play today.”

Then the torture began. He pulled on her nipples, squeezing and twisting them, pulling on them until Rainey thought he would tear them away.

“I love boobies,” he sang, over and over, to the made up tune of a child.

He slid down her body and examined her vagina like a boy examines a bug. He poked and prodded, pulling her labial lips, stretching the skin to its breaking point. He jabbed his fingers into her, ripping her skin. Rainey screamed in agony, but he paid no attention to her muffled protestations.

He cheerfully sang out, in his childlike singsong, “Don’t make too much noise, Mommy will catch us playing doctor and she won’t like it.”

Rainey pulled on the restraints, fighting for her life. She thrashed from side to side, bucking her attacker off balance, while he tried again to straddle her.

His singsong stopped and he whined like a child, “I don’t like it when you move.”

The first fist slammed into the side of her face snapping her head to one side. A wave of nausea accompanied the searing pain. It was not until the second fist crashed into her temple that she lost consciousness. She awoke to her eyes almost swollen shut, her mouth full of blood, and the man raping her. He had beaten her unmercifully and continued her torture while she was unconscious. When he realized she was awake, he stopped. He lay down on top of her, his face close to hers. She saw tears in his eyes when he looked at her. Suddenly he sat up, his knees on either side of her hips.

His voice trembled, as he said in his little boy cadence, “I’m sorry, but it only works when you play dead.”

Rainey saw him pick up the scalpel from the bed. She knew what was about to happen and she steeled herself against the pain. The cold metal cut into her skin above her right breast. Wait, wasn’t he supposed to kill her first, strangle her. She bit down hard on the cotton in her mouth and growled with pain, as he continued to slice down to just above her belly button. He plunged the scalpel in again above her left breast, sending a new wave of pain through her body. She arched her back against his weight on top of her. She tried to buck him off, but he drew the second slice to meet the first, joining them into his signature Y.