by Rita Herron
“Hell, no,” Bailey snarled. “I went and got drunk…then I decided to visit my mother.” His voice broke, choking with emotions. “I showed up here and then that crazy bastard came in. He was going to drug my mother again.”
“You have a MySpace account,” Raul said. “You set it up through your sister’s computer.”
He sat up again, jerking his hand to try to free himself. “I did no such thing.”
Raul scowled. “You didn’t use her computer to set up an account?”
“I said I didn’t,” Bailey shouted. “Besides, what’s that got to do with my sister missing?”
Raul knew the kid had had a lot dumped on him in a short time. If he had nothing to do with Jenny’s abduction, this was going to be a blow. “We think the Savannah Strangler found his victims through MySpace accounts.”
Bailey began to tremble so hard he collapsed into the chair, then dropped his head into his hands. “You think that psycho killer has Jenny?”
Raul clenched his hands into fists. “I’m not sure, but it looks like a distinct possibility.”
“God, not Jenny…” Tears filled Bailey’s eyes. “You have to find her, man. I…I have to tell her I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” Raul ground out.
“For Mom,” he choked on a sob. “And for being a loser brother.” He looked up at Raul, chin quivering.
“Please save her, Detective. Jenny can’t be dead. Mom and I both need her.”
And so did he, but he refrained from confessing it out loud. He explained that they had to take him into custody for assaulting the doctor, then phoned for a uniform to pick up Bailey. Raul was certain, though, that the charges wouldn’t stick. Still, Bailey was a loose cannon, and he wanted him contained until they found his sister.
Raul wouldn’t allow himself to even contemplate that they wouldn’t.
JENNY STRUGGLED against the bindings, twisting her hands and arms, desperate to escape before her abductor returned. She rubbed the ropes against the floor until her skin was raw and blood trickled down her hands onto her palms. Tears threatened, but she blinked them back in the darkness, wishing she could see where she was. Wishing she’d waited on Raul.
What was he doing now? Did he know she was missing? Was he tearing things apart looking for her?
So far, she hadn’t seen her attacker’s face. Had no idea if he was one of her patients or a stranger. She had to climb inside his head, find out the reason he’d abducted her. The reason he’d killed those women.
If she could get him to talk, she could stall.
But she was in no hurry to face him.
Biting back a whimper of fear, she wrestled with the bindings again, each moment that ticked by intensifying her terror. Memories of the past few days crashed back.
Visiting that first crime scene, seeing Judy Benson’s blank eyes staring up at her in death. Then Eleanor’s. The vulgar position of their bodies. How she’d wanted to cover the girl while they photographed her.
They’d do the same to her….
No. She couldn’t think like that. Had to stay strong, stay positive. Couldn’t let fear overpower her.
Forcing thoughts of the bodies into the far recesses of her mind, she focused on recalling pleasant memories. Memories of her and Bailey before their father walked out. Of Christmas, tearing open brightly wrapped presents, and opening the toys Santa had left for them under the tree. The doll she’d wanted when she was five. The tricycle for Bailey. The doctor’s kit when she was six, the baseball glove for Bailey.
Then everything had fallen apart.
Of course, now she knew that it had all started years before that.
And poor Bailey…he blamed himself. He needed help, needed her. What would happen if she didn’t survive? Would he straighten up and take care of their mother?
The bad memories pressed in again, weighting down her chest, and her breathing became heavy. She shoved them away again, thought of Raul. His strong face, the determination in his eyes when he was working.
The heat when he’d made love to her.
She latched on to the blissful comfort of his arms around her, reminded herself that Raul was smart. Strong. That he wouldn’t give up until he found her.
And when her abductor returned, she’d play his game and string him out. Serial killers murdered because they wanted attention. She’d give it to him. Let him tell his story.
And hope that Raul found her in time before the Strangler added her to his list of victims.
RAUL HAD TO THINK like a detective, not allow his personal emotions to interfere. Hopefully the crime unit he’d asked to sweep Jenny’s garage would find something. And maybe the Atlanta files would provide the answer.
What about the MySpace account? If Bailey hadn’t used Jenny’s computer to set it up, who the hell had?
Someone who’d tapped into her system, someone who knew a lot about computers? He phoned the tech team and asked them to follow up, see if they could trace another connection.
He raced up to Jenny’s office to confiscate her patient files. Maybe one of them had computer expertise. He was grasping but he had to follow every lead.
When he explained that Jenny was missing, her receptionist paled. “Oh, my goodness, you don’t think that stalker has her, do you?”
“I don’t know, but I need her patient files asap.”
Her hand trembled as she examined the warrant. “You think one of Dr. Madden’s patients is the Strangler?”
“Again, I can’t say, but we need to check those files.”
She nodded, stood and went to retrieve the list. It took her several minutes to print it out, and she gave him a weary look when she handed it over. “Dr. Madden won’t like this.”
“I know,” he said through gritted teeth. He could put up with her anger, but not losing her. “Better that than death.”
Her eyes widened and she sank back into her chair, shaking.
“I’m going to use her office to look through them.” She didn’t bother to argue, and he strode to Jenny’s desk and spread out the list. His head hurt as he began to weed through the names, striking off all the female patients first, then focusing on individuals Jenny had flagged as violent or ones with criminal pasts. Jamal Rakely’s name stuck out along with Clyde Anson’s. And one more, a guy named Carl Huggins, who had an obsession with silk and satin. Jenny had noted that he’d commented about tying women up, punishing them if they didn’t obey him. Carl also worked with computers.
He punched in the number for the precinct and spoke to his partner. “Keegan, I’ve got three names. I want patrol cars sent out and these guys picked up for questioning.” He listed the names and addresses and Keegan agreed to take care of it.
Raul heard the captain’s voice in the background. “Captain wants to talk to you.”
“Yeah. Put him on.”
“Cortez, we got a hit on that name, Bobby Machete.”
“You know who stole the ID?”
“No, but he owned a cabin here in Savannah, out by the marsh. You want to meet me out there.”
“I’m on my way.” Raul jammed the files under his arm and jogged toward the door. Black gave him the address and he ran down the steps to his car, his heart racing. He didn’t know how long this psycho had held his victims before he’d killed them, but every second counted.
Traffic was beginning to pick up as he sped toward the marshland, and he turned on his siren to bypass the worst. A few drops of rain splattered the windshield, the scent of the marsh more pungent with the humidity. A boat puttered to life and drifted through the inlet, a fisherman out for an early-morning trip. Life looked normal, with people heading to work, tourists emerging, joggers and walkers filling the sidewalks. Life as usual…yet the world was off-kilter. The women in Savannah had been in danger and still were.
And the one who mattered to him the most was in the madman’s hands.
Five minutes later he veered into a short driveway leading to a rundown shack tha
t had seen better days. Bobby Machete had bought this place?
It was set off from the others around it, desolate, isolated. A hideaway or a hideout?
A knot of fear settled in his belly. If he’d brought the women here to kill them, no wonder no one had seen or heard anything.
The captain hadn’t arrived yet, and Raul knew he should wait for backup, but Jenny might be inside. And God knew what this sicko was doing to her…
Pulling his weapon from his holster, he eased through the overgrown sea oats encompassing the property, and inched up to a side window. He glanced inside, but the place was dark and appeared empty. Shag carpet, ancient furniture and dust told him the place was deserted.
Frustration clogged his throat—he wanted Jenny to be here. Wanted the killer so he could end his sorry life.
What if he’d strangled Jenny already and was en route now to dump her body? The images of the other girls haunted him, but he quickly banished them. He had to focus. Not give up. Find her.
There might be evidence inside.
Slowly he circled the house looking for signs of inhabitants and checking the windows, but saw nothing. He jiggled the back door and it screeched open. The wood floors creaked as he made his way inside. The kitchen held a rickety Formica table, sagging cabinets and smelled musty. It also smelled of coffee.
Someone had been here recently.
Lungs tight, he moved through the kitchen to the den, his weapon trained in case of an attacker. Nothing.
Paint peeled from the door, and he reached for the rusty doorknob and turned it, his breath frozen in his lungs.
Would he find Jenny inside?
Chapter Sixteen
Raul clenched his weapon tighter as he slowly opened the door, bracing himself for an attack. But when he opened the door, his heart sank.
No Jenny.
Panic tore at him, his imagination running wild. Had she been here?
The bed had been disturbed. The covers mussed. Droplets of blood tinged the floor.
Would the blood match Jenny’s?
God, what had the bastard done to her?
He’d drugged the other women, had sex with them, then strangled them….
A car engine sounded outside, and Raul eased back through the house, hoping it was the guy who’d stolen Machete’s identity. But his captain exited from the unmarked car and Raul met him at the door.
“No one inside, but there are signs someone has been here recently.”
“I’ll get a crime unit here.” Captain Black phoned in the request as he followed Raul inside the house. They searched the rooms, desk in the den, kitchen drawers for anything that might indicate where the man might be or where he might have taken Jenny.
No notes, scraps of paper with scribbled addresses. No maps. No brochures. Nothing.
He moved back to the bedroom, his heart clenching at the blood droplets, then checked the closet. There were no clothes inside, no slacks or shoes, no rope…
Was the man staying someplace else?
On the top shelf he noticed a wooden box, and he took it down and opened it.
Silk panties.
Not the kind that were used to strangle the victims, but four pairs in different sizes and styles.
The police had wondered about the girls’ underwear, if it had been the man’s trophy.
They were right. These had probably belonged to the victims….
His heart raced. The killer had stolen them for himself, meaning he might not have used gloves when he handled them. Maybe they’d get prints or DNA.
Black shouted his name and Raul carried the box to the second bedroom to show him what he found. “The girls’ underwear…we were right, it was his trophy.”
“And look what I found.” With his gloved hand, the captain indicated a shoebox, and Raul peered down into it.
“Tapes,” Black said. He held up one and showed Raul the label.
“Judy Benson.” Raul’s blood ran cold as he noticed the names on the other tapes. One tape for each of the girls.
“Holy hell,” he muttered. “You think he taped the rape and murder?”
Black shrugged. “We’ll have to check them out to know for sure. And if he did, we might get a face.”
Another possibility sent a shudder through Raul. “Or he might have been stalking the women and taped them beforehand.”
“It’s possible he set up cameras in their homes,” Black suggested.
Raul cursed and punched in the number for the crime unit, hoping they were still at Jenny’s house.
Jordan, one of the techs, answered on the third ring.
“Listen, we found tapes of the Strangler victims. Check and see if there are hidden cameras inside Dr. Madden’s house.”
Jordan agreed, and Raul hung up, a knot in his stomach, his throat thick with rage and fear. Had this psycho been taping Jenny? Spying on her in her house when she had no idea he was watching?
And what was he doing to her now? Taping her while she struggled to escape him? While he took her against her will?
While he killed her?
HE WANTED JENNY, had wanted her from the first moment he’d seen her. From the first time he’d walked into her office and she’d spoken his name.
That voice…so husky soft and seductive. And her eyes, they had been so kind. So understanding. So loving and innocent.
Not like his mother’s. That cold bitch who’d thrown him away like a sack of garbage. Tossed him into that orphanage where he’d been treated like nothing.
He’d scrapped and fought his way through, a mere number in a host of unwanted. An invisible kid the regular kids in school laughed at.
Snotty-nosed, poor little boy with no family, they’d taunted.
His temper had shut them up though. And as he grew older, he’d learned to be charming. Had cleaned himself up so the women even wanted him.
But they never stayed. They always left.
Because they were sluts. Not good girls like Jenny.
Anger zinged through every inch of his flesh, though, as he realized the truth. Jenny wasn’t good, either.
She had deserted him, too, when she’d come to Savannah. Then she’d shacked up with that cop like a commoner. Had forgotten him and invited more men into her office.
He would make her pay for that. Nobody left him, not anymore.
Not ever again.
But he would have her first. Finally.
He popped in the tape from her house and hit Play, then relaxed on the bed as he watched her enter her house. She rubbed her temple and walked to the kitchen, then poured herself a glass of wine. Then she carried it to her bedroom. Excitement shot through him, and his body hardened.
Slowly she peeled off her clothes, the silk blouse, skirt, shoes, down to her underwear. The black lace bra containing her breasts made his mouth water. Then she flicked the clasp, and her heavy globes sprang free, her nipples tightening as the air hit them. He visibly gulped in a breath, squirming with anticipation.
Nude now except for that pair of satin panties that barely covered her precious secrets, he licked his lips. He itched for release as she slid them down her slender thighs and kicked them off. Groaning, he forced his hands to his side, refusing to touch himself. He wanted to be inside her when he enjoyed his release.
His excitement built as she walked naked to the bathroom and filled the tub with bubbly water. Bringing her wine with her, she sank down inside the hot water and moaned as the bubbles dotted her flesh. He imagined her moaning like that when he was inside her. Imagined her calling his name in a sultry whisper as he made love to her.
And her screams when he wrapped a pair of panties around her neck and choked the life from her.
RAUL’S PHONE TRILLED as he secured the evidence in Captain Black’s police car. “Detective Cortez.”
Hoping for another lead, he quickly connected the call. “Detective, this is Sergeant Humphries from the Atlanta PD. Dr. Ragan, a former partner with Dr. Jenny Madden, phoned and to
ld me you guys were looking into a man named Bobby Machete.”
Impatience tightened Raul’s mouth. “Yeah, we believe the man who has been strangling women here in Savannah stole Machete’s ID. What do you know about him?”
“We investigated his death, and although we didn’t find anything conclusive, we suspected that he might have been murdered.”
“Did you have any suspects?”
“One. A mental patient named Felix Brainard. Like Machete, Brainard was a patient of Dr. Madden’s.”
“Do you know where Brainard is now?”
“No. We didn’t have anything concrete to hold him on and had to cut him loose.”
“Do you have an address?”
“No. According to his landlord, he left town a couple of months ago but didn’t leave any forwarding information.”
Raul’s pulse was racing. Brainard might be their killer. “Can you fax a photo of him to our precinct, along with any other information you have on him?”
“Sure. Dr. Ragan released his medical file, so I’ll send those as well.”
“Did he have any family or friends that he might go to?” Raul asked.
“Guy had no friends or family to speak of. He grew up in an orphanage. But according to Dr. Ragan, he’d just discovered his father’s identity. He might have left town to track him down.”
“What’s his name?” Raul asked.
“Ralph Martin.”
Raul’s chest heaved for air. Martin, the old man who was working on Jenny’s house. His son was Brainard…
“Thank you, Sergeant.”
He hung up and spun toward Black, quickly relaying the information.
“I’ll wait on CSI to sweep this place. I want to know whose blood that is,” Black said. “Then I’ll take the underwear and tapes to the station for processing.”
Raul nodded, adrenaline pumping. “I’ll find Martin. He doesn’t know we’re on to him,” Raul said. “And he should be at Jenny’s this morning. The Atlanta PD is faxing over info on this Brainard guy.”
Old man or not, if Martin had helped his son murder these women or covered for him, Raul would force him to talk.
