by Allan Evans
“So, let’s talk about our killer,” he suggested after a moment.
“Go ahead, it’s your party.”
Cade ran his fingers through his wet hair. “We know who the killer is.” Grace’s eyes widened, but she remained silent. “He’s in law enforcement, which means he knows our protocols and procedures. As if he wasn’t already dangerous.”
Grace nodded. “Extremely dangerous.”
“What I need to know is what this guy is capable of doing. What lengths he’ll go to achieve his objective.”
“By objective, you mean killing blonde women,” she said.
“There’s more to it with him. This entire thing is a game to him and I’m the ultimate prize. That’s what happened down in Chicago. He built a pattern of murdered waitresses and lured the prominent lead investigator into a trap. Eviscerated him on the hood of his car. Now, he’s moved here and began again. I need to get into his head to stop him.”
“You shouldn’t discount his targeting blonde women though. I’d bet there’s more to it than simply providing an easily discovered pattern.”
“You mean somewhere in his past, there’s a blonde who done him wrong?” Cade asked.
“Don’t make the mistake of ignoring his triggers. You might be able to use this,” Grace replied.
“That’s good, Cade nodded. “I know these killers are not wired like the rest of us. Help me to understand this guy.”
Grace shivered, as she paused. “The truth about the people who commit serial murder is both scary and eye opening. Evil is alive and well in these killers. They are likely to have come from broken homes and have been abused or neglected. Most are shy and introverted. Yet, others are gregarious and outgoing. But they feel almost universally isolated from the world. Often, serial killers exhibit three behaviors in childhood known as the MacDonald triad: bed wetting, arson and cruelty to animals.”
“I’ve heard that, especially the cruelty to animals part.” Cade glanced up at the dark clouds swirling overhead. A flash of lightning danced across the sky. “Torturing and killing small animals is how it begins.”
Grace nodded. “We’re dealing with a mature killer here. His needs escalate as the intervals between kills shrink. He can achieve satisfaction through the reliving of previous killings, however, the mounting hunger he has for real-life violence against a real-life captive can be contained for only so long. His need is driving him. Whether it’s a game or not, he will need to kill again soon. At the conclusion, I’d expect him to make a big play to draw you in. His meticulously prepared killing scheme will have a variety of contingency plans designed to snare his victim: you.”
“Great,” Cade growled.
“The price of popularity. You didn’t have to be so good at your job.”
Cade grinned. “Somebody has to.”
Cade’s cell buzzed. The display read Reynolds DeVries.
The stench of decay assaulted her senses, making her eyes water, making it hard to breathe. Reynolds was dragged and chained to a roughly hewn post in the corner of the bleak building, far from the door. The iron manacle around her ankle bit into her skin, but she was otherwise unhurt.
Her captor had driven them out of town, headed east on Highway 36 until houses gave way to farmland. Not a word was exchanged for the entire trip. At a stoplight, with cars nearby, Reynolds gauged her chances of escape. The man simply held up the Taser and any hope she had disappeared. They eventually turned off the highway and soon traversed a rutted dirt road. When they pulled up alongside a large outbuilding, he got out long enough to swing open the doors before driving inside. Nothing about the road or the dilapidated structure suggested anyone had been there in decades.
Time meant little as the afternoon sun waned and the rumble of thunder heralded a change of weather. Soon, the rain attacked the metal roof, and Reynolds was forced further into the corner by the persistent leaks that followed her as she shifted position. After he first chained her to the post, the man moved around the building for nearly an hour tucking away various sharp objects around the structure. To Reynolds, it looked like the entire building was to be a trap, and the killer wanted to have as many weapons at hand as possible.
She knew who the intended victim would be.
Glancing up, she was startled to find her captor mere feet away. He was unnaturally quiet in his approach and she hadn’t heard him, not having any idea how long he’d stood there. She held the man’s gaze as she fought the urge to look away. He seemed normal enough: muscular, clean cut, professional in his neatly pressed patrol uniform. There weren’t any scars, piercings, or neck tattoos. Nothing that marked him as a monster. That was, until she looked at his eyes.
As a reporter, she’d learned to study a person’s eyes because they told you a lot about what they’re thinking. Not this one. His eyes gave away nothing, but took away everything—all her plans, all her dreams, and all her hope. It was at that exact moment she knew she’d die today.
He knelt down, undoing the clasp on her manacle. She tried to pull her leg away, but his hand shot out and his fingers locked onto her ankle. Each finger dug into her leg, pressing muscle, tendons and nerves until she gasped from the pain. He didn’t say a word, as he dragged her across the dirt floor, his rigid fingers never loosening their grip. Abruptly, he squatted and effortlessly hefted her up and tossed her onto a weathered wooden table. Landing hard on her back, she panicked as she tried to get a breath.
The man worked quickly as he secured her to the table with bungee cords. Reynolds, now in full desperation mode, flung her head from side to side as she scanned her surroundings. Knives of varying sizes were spread around the sides of the table, as well as rope and more bungee cords, and an assortment of farming tools. Something about the sickle with its sharp, curved blade terrified her far more than the other tools.
Looming over her, the man paused to glance at his watch and spoke his first words since the minivan. “Looks like we have a few minutes to play,” he murmured as he began to unbutton his shirt.
The voice on the phone was not Reynolds’. Cade’s stomach dropped and his face burned. His fight-or-flight instinct was engaged as he grabbed Grace’s sleeve and put the call on speaker. “What did you say?”
A pause. “I have her.”
Cade’s eyes locked onto Grace’s. “You have her?” he questioned.
“We’ve had some playtime.” The smirk in Sweetwater’s voice was maddening. “I’ve enjoyed getting to know her, every inch of her tight body.”
Cade’s blood pounded, his anger rising. “If you—.”
“Don’t presume to threaten me,” the killer hissed. “I’m smarter than you’ll ever be,” Sweetwater bragged. “You don’t realize it yet. You will, though.” He laughed a horrible joyless sound. “But don’t you worry, Miss DeVries and I have much more to accomplish. She is very much alive.” The phone jostled, and a soul-wrenching cry overwhelmed the phone’s tiny speaker.
Agitated and afraid for Reynolds’ life, Cade looked to Grace for help. She shook her head as tears ran down her cheeks. Cade summoned as much strength as he could and asked the one question he could think of. “What do you want from me?”
“You have a chance to save your fine little blonde girlfriend. But first, you have to pass a modest test I have set up for you. Do that and you both survive.”
“And if I don’t pass the test?” Cade knew the answer before he finished the question.
“Her blood will be on your hands.”
Cade searched Grace’s gaze, looking for a way out. She moved her hand in a keep-him-talking gesture. “Where do we go from here?”
“Get your ass moving on Highway 36 toward Lake Elmo. You need to be here within twenty minutes. I’ll text you the turns. And Dawkins, I’m more connected than you could possibly guess. Contact any branch of law enforcement and I’ll know. We need to keep this simple. Just you and me, so I want you to come in exposed. No shirt or shoes. If I spot a weapon, she’s done. You disobey me and your
blonde is sliced and diced. And I’m in the wind.”
The line went dead.
Grace had her cell out, a focused look on her face. “I can get everyone moving in that direction. That way backup is close.”
Cade closed his hand around hers, sliding the phone from her fingers. She glanced at him, clearly puzzled. “He’s not going to know.”
“What if he does? What if he sees our squads? If I were him, I’d be in position to see if I brought help. He’ll keep me waiting while he ensures there’s no backup. He has our radio, and he will be listening.” Cade headed for his truck.
“Wait,” Grace called.
He turned on her. “Grace, I can’t take the chance. I really can’t.”
Stepping close, she held his gaze. “I agree with you. But let’s not give him all the cards. I need a minute to grab something.” Not waiting for his answer, she turned and raced for the BCA entrance.
Cade was in a flat-out sprint, flying down Highway 36, the other vehicles slow-moving masses as he maneuvered around them. At the Hadley stoplight he moved onto the shoulder to get around a particularly slow pickup truck. The moon-faced driver held up his middle finger as Cade went past. The rules of the road could wait until everyone was safe. Speed was Cade’s priority.
As he flew past the exit north of the interstate, Cade’s cell chirped with an incoming text. Left on Lake Elmo Avenue. He didn’t know much about the stretch of road west of 36, other than it was dotted with farms. He remembered seeing not only endless rows of corn, but cows and sheep along the two-lane country road. After cresting a hill, he could see his turn up ahead. A car waited ahead of him in the left turn lane. He slid in behind it as the light changed to green.
As he made the turn, Cade scanned the area around the intersection looking for an observer. “Where the hell are you?” he asked loudly, slapping the dash in frustration. This is where I’d be. If he could corner Sweetwater here, away from Reynolds, the risk would be much less. But if he was here, Sweetwater was well-hidden.
After making the left turn onto Lake Elmo Avenue, his cell chirped to announce another text had arrived. Pull over and wait.
Cade swung the Toyota to the shoulder and checked his rearview mirror. No one behind. The pickup he’d followed from the intersection continued on, oblivious to the unfolding drama around him. Such was the nature of life. Events of great magnitude could be happening right next to you, and you may never know. The neighbor you wave to each morning could be quietly suffering. It may not be something as dramatic as having your girlfriend kidnapped by a deranged serial killer, but a loved one with cancer could be just as devastating.
Cade ruminated on this for several long minutes as he tried to contain his mounting agitation. He picked up his cell, desperate to at least text Rob and clue him in. He jumped when the cell chirped in his hand. Proceed, was the brief message. It was followed by, Right turn at the yellow flag.
He put the truck in gear and slung gravel behind him as he sped for the top of the hill. After cresting, he saw the yellow flag next to a neglected dirt road. He pulled over briefly by the wooded area and glanced at his watch. It was 7:52 p.m. and the sun was going down. He hoped it wasn’t a metaphor for his and Reynolds’ lives.
Cade turned at the flag. The ride was rough as he steered around the deep holes and the exposed rocks that comprised the desolate road. Large boulders blocked the road after Cade rounded a curve. Cutting the engine, Cade stepped out into the damp evening air. On his left were the remains of a farmhouse, long ago burned to the ground. It looked as if the farm hadn’t seen life since Reagan was in the White House.
As directed, Cade stripped off his shirt, kicked off his shoes and slipped off his socks. Leaving the relative safety of the truck, Cade moved past the boulders toward the single metallic outbuilding ahead. Seeing a flicker of light from the interior, he knew this was his destination. Without a doubt, this was a trap. But Sweetwater wouldn’t try to take him with a rifle, instead he’d want the killing to be close and personal. Sweetwater would choose something sharp for his coup de grace, something to make him bleed and suffer. This was personal—for both of them.
Instinctively, Cade reached for the comfort of his pistol and remembered he’d left it in the truck as instructed. No second gun in an ankle holster, either. He stepped up to the large door and paused, feeling naked and exposed. He pushed the door open. Let’s get this over with.
Opening with a creak, the door swung on its hinges and slapped up against the wall. So much for a quiet entrance. Cade took a step inside and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. A dozen candles flickered around the structure leaving pockets of light in the otherwise dark space. The brightest spot was lit by a gas lantern across the way. A large wooden table held both the lamp and Cade’s attention. It took a moment for his brain to register what his eyes were seeing. Reynolds was on the table, lying motionless.
Cade knew this was when the trap would be sprung. The moment he went to Reynolds, Sweetwater would be there. He knew this, yet he couldn’t not go. A large part of why he became a cop was because the protector instinct was hard-wired into his DNA. He would always watch over the weak. He ran to her.
Reynolds was covered in blood. Cade couldn’t tell where the source was, there was so much. Her clothes were in tatters and she was strapped to the table. Even though she was gagged, her eyes were trying to tell something.
He reached over and swept the blood-streaked hair from her face. Reynolds eyes kept flicking to the side.
Her warning and his flinch saved him when he heard the sound of the blade cutting through the air. If he hadn’t moved, Cade would have lost his arm. Sweetwater stood in front of him, shirtless and marked with what looked like war paint, a matching pair of sickles in his hands. The man was ripped with muscle, outweighing Cade by a good thirty pounds. His dark eyes were fixed on Cade, streaks of red around the killer’s eye sockets. It was a terrifying visage, especially when he realized it was Reynolds’ blood Sweetwater had adorned himself with.
The killer took a step forward and Cade sidestepped, wanting to offer the smallest possible target. Sweetwater’s breathing sounded like animalistic grunts, and his eyes never wavered from his prey. He took another step toward Cade.
The attack was vicious and sudden. Recognizing when your opponent tensed up before he struck was one thing, getting out of the way was another thing altogether. Cade saw Sweetwater shift his weight as he lashed out with the right sickle, followed by the left. Cade spun to his left, twisting away from the first blade, the second nicking the back of his neck. Cade reached a hand back, touching the cut. A smear of warm blood appeared on his fingers, but the wound not life-threatening.
Sweetwater stared at him as a malevolent smile played across his face. “Just getting warmed up,” he hissed. “I’m going to bleed you.” The cord of muscles in Sweetwater’s jaw twitched. Cade sized up the killer. To say there was more animal in him than human would be unfair to animals. However damaged, a human psyche had to be buried in there somewhere. That would be where his weakness lay.
Cade spotted a six-inch blade with a wooden handle on the edge of the table. He grabbed it and held it in front of him. He knew there were two outcomes in most knife fights, one fighter goes to the hospital while the other goes to the morgue.
The look on Sweetwater’s face conveyed little concern about Cade’s chances with the knife. No matter, the weapon was simply a delaying tactic.
The trouble was, Sweetwater wasn’t going to be delayed.
He lunged at Cade, the twin blades cutting through the air. The man was a whirlwind, his quick movements forcing Cade to step back to avoid the blades. Cade’s defensive training taught him to anticipate the attacker’s strike and when to counter. When the moment arrived, Cade brought the knife up, going for the soft tissue area above Sweetwater’s elbow. However, his counter attack appeared to be expected and the blade clanged against the steel of a sickle.
Sweetwater paused, wearing a g
rin which looked like it would be more at home on a hyena. It was at that precise moment that Cade realized he was in way over his head. Physically, he was no match for the killer.
And then things changed.
“Marlin.”
Sweetwater’s head whipped around. His grin disappeared as he took in the blonde woman standing at the shadowy entrance. She wore a form fitting skirt and blouse, much the same as his victims. He lowered the blades.
“Marlin,” the woman repeated as she took several steps toward him. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Sweetwater said nothing, but he pulled his hands behind him, looking as if he wanted to hide the sickles. Cade took the opportunity to move away from him.
“Marlin!” the woman shrieked, moving forward. “You are such a disappointment. Your constant bed wetting disgusts me. How can you live with yourself?” Sweetwater hesitated and took several steps backward.
Cade moved to his left, putting more space between him and the killer. He knew time was running out. Fast.
“How could you hurt those poor animals?” she demanded. “Doesn’t it ever disturb you to torture, maim and murder those small, defenseless creatures?” She made a show of wiping her eyes.
Cade glanced over at Sweetwater. The man stood still, absolutely rigid. His mouth hung open a little.
“And the fires. Always burning things.” The blonde woman jabbed her finger at Sweetwater as she took another step forward, pushing her perceived advantage. “You’ve always been a disappointment, Marlin. Do you know that?”
Cade flicked his eyes between the two. It intrigued him that Sweetwater retreated every time Grace stepped forward. There had to be some remnant of human psyche inside Sweetwater’s twisted mind. Grace was correct after all. When they discussed Sweetwater, she’d pointed out that even though the pattern was designed to draw him in, it still had to mean something. A blonde woman had to have had a major impact on his life. “If I had to speculate,” she’d said, “it would be his mother. No one can mess with your head like a mother,” she insisted.
