Serial (11 page)

By the time she noticed the pile of bloodied women’s clothing tucked in the corner of the locker and the knife in my hand, it was too late.

I was more controlled this time, determined to really take my time, enjoy it so I could satiate the red waves of heat for a couple of weeks at least.

I didn’t kiss or bite her though, after kissing Pet and feeling her essence on my tongue, I didn’t want to sully it with the taste of another.

I lead her to believe we were going to fuck, good old dirty-dog paid-for sex. While she was writhing under my gripping hand, I stabbed her throat. A quick sharp thrust with my larger hunting knife. It was fast this time, and I didn’t end up as covered in her arterial spray.

I carefully sliced her breast with the knife, and left precision marks instead of jagged tears.

I drove the body to the same spot in the mountains when I was done with her. I left her laid out carefully just a few yards from Coral.

I never did get this one’s name, with Pet in my life, details like that were feeling less and less meaningful.

Driving back to my house I was pleased that my head didn’t throb, my heart felt light and I was almost vibrating in anticipation of seeing her again.

I almost felt sane.

Almost normal.

Chapter Ten

Agent Donovan Blake

Portland, Oregon

“I’ll have a coffee, please. Black and hot.” I didn’t bother to glance at the frumpy waitress in the small diner where I was having lunch with Agent Chase. Barking out my order, I couldn’t have cared less if I appeared rude. I was on the hunt for a killer and I liked to stay focused on my case rather than concerning myself with everyday pleasantries.

“I’ll also have coffee, thank you. However, I prefer two sugars and a splash of creamer.” She held up a finger to stall the waitress at our table. “Donovan, you should eat something.”

When I didn’t respond Agent Chase groaned before turning back to the waitress. “Please bring us some toast, whole wheat with butter and an assortment of jellies, and some eggs with a side of bacon and sausage. Thank you.”

The waitress left our table without hesitation and I could feel Emily’s eyes burning into me. Looking up, I didn’t speak; allowing her time to say whatever was on her mind.

“Do you always have to be so rude?”

Glancing back at the papers I was reviewing, I attempted a smile, which I suspect appeared more as a grimace. “I’m not rude, Agent Chase. I’m focused. You of all people should understand the difference.”

“You can refer to me by my first name. We’re not in a professional setting.”

“I don’t like using first names. It’s too personal.”

She reached across the table to pat my hand where it rested atop one of the many case files associated with CK. “You had no problem using my first name last night.”

This time I actually managed a smile. “I doubt the term ‘dirty little slut’ counts as use of your first name.”

Her jaw dropped only for a second before she reverted back to her usual pleasant expression. “No. I guess it doesn’t.”

Changing the subject, I voiced my thoughts on the case. “The most recent kills are concerning me. Normally, CK goes through a cooling down period between kills. At least spacing them out a week apart from one another. From what we can tell by the state of decomp of his most recent victims’ bodies, he waited a day or two at most between the first and second.” Sitting back against the cheap pleather booth seat, I caught Emily’s eyes. “Why would he escalate?”

Immediately back to business as usual, she suggested, “Perhaps there’s been a trigger. Something that’s happened to him to push him into a manic state. You know how it is with these types, outside influences can lead them into making mistakes or breaking their pattern.”

Considering her words, I finally shook my head in disagreement. “No. He hasn’t wavered from his normal habits. The right nipple of both victims had been removed, one with teeth and the other with a blade. Both were positioned as if sleeping. Their hair was brushed and nothing appeared out of the ordinary. As usual, he was methodical in these kills. Nothing, and I mean, NOTHING, was left behind. Those are not the signs of a manic state.”

Tossing the photographs on the table, I didn’t care that some poor soul might walk by and see them. The horror would only serve to teach that person to mind his or her own business.

“Prostitutes. Both were prostitutes and wouldn’t have been missed. We lucked out that a hiker found them as quickly as he did.”

Glancing at the crime scene maps I did finally recognize one other break in CK’s pattern.

Tossing the map to Agent Chase, I wanted to find out if she saw it as well. “Notice anything unusual?”

Her brows tilted down as she examined it. Turning the paper sideways and then upside down, she righted it before looking up. “I’m not familiar with the area. It’s a new dump sight. What am I looking for?”

“You’re looking for a break in pattern.”

Her eyes reviewed the map again. I could see the idea hitting her expression at the exact moment she figured it out.

“He dumped them close to each other and close to a trail. It’s as if he wanted them found quickly. Considering the care he gives them following their death, do you think that he wants them to be found sooner rather than later?”

I didn’t know the answer to her question and it bothered me. “Are you suggesting that he no longer wants them to decompose?”

She nodded. I disagreed immediately.

“No. He’s been too careful up to this point. Killers either keep their victims to themselves or they display them in such a way that it sends a message or reveals some personal trauma in their life. It’s one way or the other, never both. For years, CK has been attempting to keep the bodies to himself. It’s only been by chance that they were located. There’s no reason that he would suddenly switch.”

“Unless he doesn’t need to keep them anymore.”

Her expression was smug when I looked up. Giving me the sweet smile that always foreshadows some bit of brilliance on her part, she theorized, “Think about it, Donovan. He’s escalating, which leads us to believe that some trigger has occurred in his life. Not only has he had a heightened need for release, but he’s broken his pattern in such a way that if he’s the type to revisit bodies or wishes to possess these women, he’s not given time to do so.”

Nodding, I surmised, “We should visit the neighborhood where the victims were known to work. Maybe somebody saw something. A car color or brand. Anything that could give us more information about him other than what’s been done to his victims.”

“I agree.” Realizing that we still hadn’t received our order, Emily raised her hand up in the air to signal our waitress. The short, stocky woman ran up with wiry hair flying in all directions around her head. Dropping two cups of coffee on the table, she said, “I’m so sorry it’s taking this long for your orders. We’re short on staff because a waitress failed to show about three days ago.”

Shrugging, she continued as if we were actually interested in what she had to say. “We’re hiring to replace her if you know somebody.”

“No ma’am. We’re from out of town, so we wouldn’t know anybody. We are, however, in somewhat of a hurry, so I don’t know if there’s a way you can push our order to the front of the line. If so, we would really appreciate it.” Emily answered as cordially as possible.

“Oh sure. Let me go take care of that for you.”

The little woman bounced off in the opposite direction while Emily and I shared a mutual look of annoyance.

***

“This area will be difficult to canvass. With this type of poverty, we’re going to be dealing with people who know better than to run their mouths or who have had previous problems with the law.”

My eyes took in the dilapidated buildings and weed covered walkways. Emily remained quiet and contemplative as she looked over the streets and the vehicles parked alongside them.

Gritting my teeth, I cursed the fact that whoever we were hunting obviously knew what he was doing. I wasn’t surprised, though. The coldest of psychopaths were always the most difficult to find.

“When is the rest of the team meeting us? I think Agent Reynolds would be a good person to conduct the canvass. He appears easy going and trustworthy. He puts people at ease. They might talk to him. We should dress him in plain clothes and see what he can come up with.” Emily mused while still watching out the car window.

Turning a corner, I noticed a commotion surrounding a particularly drab building. A crowd had gathered in the street and I saw the flash of yellow police tape surrounding the miniscule lawn outside the front door.

“What do you think the likelihood is of two killers being in the same area in the course of a week?” I asked.

Emily turned her attention to the scene. “Why are you so sure someone has been killed in there?” Shrugging off her rhetorical question, she added, “In an area such as this? Who knows? Let’s check it out. Maybe a local officer can give us more information.”

We approached the scene and were immediately met by an attractive black woman wearing the typical police uniform. Her hair was pulled back in a drastic knot at the back of her head. “Sorry folks, but this is a crime scene and you’ll have to remain back.”

Emily and I both pulled our wallets from our pockets, flashing our badges and identifying ourselves as FBI agents. The woman didn’t appear impressed.

I allowed Emily to do the talking because I wasn’t feeling very polite at that moment.

“Officer, my name is Emily Chase, I’m a behavioral analyst with the FBI and Agent Blake and I are currently investigating the apparent serial killer you have in the area.”

Thin brows shot up over the officer’s brown eyes.

“Oh, you’re here about the Cascades Killer? Yeah, I was on scene for some of those cases before they were determined to be related. I haven’t seen anything in this scene that looks similar. Whoever killed the man in that building wasn’t clean or organized. He didn’t hide the body either. Only reason we found the victim is because people were complaining about the smell.”

“Thank you for that information, but would you mind if we have a look for ourselves?”

The officer shrugged, dropping her amateur analysis to lift the tape. Ducking under, Emily thanked the woman, who then followed behind us as we entered.

I could see why people had been complaining of the smell. It was a particularly pungent odor, like rotting food or meat that has sat in the sun for far too long. The smell of death, once encountered, could never be forgotten. It wasn’t something a person would ever get used to either. At least, not in the thickness of it that still flooded this house.

Emily grimaced, but like the professional she was, donned her normal expression, surveying the scene as carefully as I.

“Good god. Whoever did this was angry.” Thinking out loud, Emily’s eyes took in the blood splatter on the walls and ceiling of the front room.

The body of the victim was hunched over the filthy couch, his flesh only a light blue at the face and arms from livor mortis. The lack of additional hypostasis on the skin was probably due to his blood having been splashed around the room and spilled out onto the couch. As far as I could tell, he’d most likely been there for a few days, but the body would need to be moved to make a more accurate determination of timing.

Besides the notable signs and symptoms that death had occurred in this space, there were also indications that a struggle had taken place beforehand. I pursed my lips realizing that the chances that this was caused by our perpetrator were slim to none.

Emily and I remained silent as we walked the small space. Blood and other potential evidence was identified everywhere by small markers set out by the crime scene technicians. Entering the bathroom, we found more blood, both on the floor and mixed within the stale and stagnant water still filling the bath.

On the floor was a familiar uniform and I recognized it immediately as having belonged to the diner where we’d just eaten breakfast. Beside the uniform were a fifty and ten dollar bill. Water had been splashed everywhere leaving small stains where it gathered on the floor and eventually evaporated.

“Did you notice the uniform?” Emily asked.

“Yeah.” Stepping closer, I was careful not to disturb the scene when I knelt down to inspect the clothing closer. “There’s no name tag, but I’m not sure if that’s unusual.” Looking up at her, I asked, “Do you remember the waitress from this morning wearing one?”

Shaking her head, she answered, “No. There was no identification at all on her clothes.”

“Hmmm.” My knees popped when I stood up. “I think we may have solved the case of the missing waitress.”

Turning to the police officer who was still watching us closely on her scene, I asked, “Do we know who all of this blood belongs to or where the woman is that was obviously here.”

She stepped up beside me, looking over the money, blood and clothing littering the floor. “No we don’t. My men have already been to the neighbors’ houses asking questions, but all we learned was that the couple that lives here screams and yells a lot. One person told us that the woman’s name is Ronnie and she would always have bruises somewhere on her body. From the looks of the scene and from what we gathered from neighbors so far, I tend to think this was a case of domestic abuse gone horribly wrong. She may have killed him in self-defense and fled afraid that she’d be arrested for murder.”

“Do we have more than her first name?” Even though I agreed with the officer’s analysis, I was still curious as to the participants.

“No. We’re recording the scene now and once the medical examiner arrives to examine and remove the body, we’ll be searching drawers and closets for identification. We know she lived here, but her name is not listed on the lease.”

Pulling my card from my pocket, I handed it to her. “Could you do me a favor and call me when you obtain a name?”

Taking it from me she argued, “I don’t think this has anything to do with the Cascades…”