by Jon Mills
A noise from behind startled her. Standing in the doorway was a figure — the one in the old man’s mask. Chloe, scared for her life, backed up fast holding out the scissors.
“Get back. I will kill you if you come near me.”
“I see you’ve found my prized possessions. Aren’t they beautiful?”
“You sick fucker, get back.”
He moved towards her and bounced from side to side as if he was about to play a game of tag.
“Where are you going to go, Chloe? There is nowhere to run.”
Her vision blurred, creating multiple versions of him in front of her. She slashed the air, desperate to keep him at a distance. There was no way in hell she would let him perform taxidermy on her. Her heart was pounding in her chest. She had never felt so much fear.
“Come on now. Drop the scissors and I won’t punish you.”
“Stay back,” she said, continuing to jab and swipe in front of her. The world at the corners of her eyes was fading to black. No, stay awake! He laughed as if he could tell she was fighting the effects of the injection he’d given her.
Chloe pounced towards the opening but was too slow. He slammed one of the bodies into her, knocking her down and causing the scissors to slip across the ground. She scrambled forward. Pain coursed through her body. The world began to cave in on her.
“Shit. You’ve grazed yourself. Now look what you’ve done.”
She couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer.
“That’s a girl. Go to sleep. Sleep.”
The last image was of him crouching over her. A sick and twisted face inches away from her own.
Chapter 28
There were no easy ways to find answers. Police banged on doors, interviewed families of victims, and followed up on any tips that came in to the joint task force. It was a slow and painful process that was only made worse by every passing day and the occasional nutcase who wanted to waste police time with a false confession.
Ben was reminded of what his instructor had told him back at the academy.
“It’s hours of sheer frustration followed by moments of pure terror.”
That was the reality.
After an abrupt phone call from Henri Bruns in which he hung up, Ben spent a good portion of that afternoon with Patricia Welling’s family. Victim’s services had been with them since they came down to the medical examiner’s office and identified her body.
It was learned that Patricia had left one Sunday morning three years ago, saying she was going to hike up Cadillac Mountain. It was the tallest peak on Mount Desert Island. At an elevation of one thousand five hundred and twenty-eight feet above sea level you could see above the clouds. Her last words were, “I’ll be back this evening.”
She was never seen again. Her mother had been devastated by the whole ordeal. The recent news of her body being found didn’t bring her any more relief. While victim’s families were usually glad to have the body returned so they could have a proper burial, the thought of what happened, haunted them.
The profile Ben had created so far of the perpetrator was based on the girls being from out of town but this one wasn’t. Which was leading him to believe that the killer wasn’t choosing them randomly. Or was he? These seemed like opportunist kidnappings. He wasn’t stalking them in the way other serial killers would follow their victims for weeks or even months. He wasn’t studying what they did, or who was with them. Instead they were walking into his territory the way a gazelle would stroll through tall reeds unaware that a lion lay in wait. Or could it be something else? Was he basing his selection on something that the women had in common? But what was it?
It struck him he hadn’t thought about Jake Ashton, Earl’s son. He didn’t think for a moment that he had anything to do with this. The kid had no fight in him. He was scared when Ben pulled him from the car. But maybe he could provide some insights into what Chloe might have told him.
Dakota made contact with Jake as she was certain Earl wouldn’t have given Ben the time of day. To ensure that he didn’t bolt, Dakota asked him to meet down by the harbor. It was meant to feel informal — a simple follow-up on the charges they had wanted to press against Ben.
Dakota headed for the harbor late that afternoon. It was a short ten-minute ride. Along the way she called her lawyer who was handling some issues with her ex, Michael, who had recently returned to the town hoping to patch things up. She’d told him in no uncertain terms that it was over. He’d made that painfully obvious the moment he chose to screw around.
There were lots of lobster boats in the harbor that afternoon. Most of the fishermen were busy cleaning their traps and nets. Among the eight cars in the lot was Jake’s 2003 Pontiac. It was parked at an angle and idling in the rain. She pulled up beside him and could hear rock music blaring from his woofer speakers. She gestured for him to get in. He had this look on his face as if he was tired of dealing with cops.
Outside, the wind could be heard rattling the wire grid railing that went along the dock. The door opened, and he hopped into the passenger side.
“Jake,” Dakota said.
“What’s this about?”
“You knew Chloe well.”
“Somewhat.”
“Do you know anything about her disappearance?”
He didn’t even hesitate, he just shook his head. “Nope.”
She looked out the window at the sun, which was trying to break through dark clouds. The sound of a bell ringing gently in the wind could be heard every few minutes.
Jake looked rugged and athletic like any typical high school kid who played sports. He tapped his fingers on his jeans nervously.
“So?” he asked.
“Did Chloe ever tell you that she felt as if she was being watched or do you know anyone who might have wanted to hurt her?”
He shook his head. “Do you mind if I smoke?”
“No, go ahead.”
He pulled a pack of Marlboro Lights out, tapped one out, and placed it between his lips. Dakota, who was still trying to kick the habit herself, flipped the top on her old lighter. The end of his cigarette glowed orange and hissed as he took a few hard pulls on it. He touched the button to bring the window down just slightly. Wafts of smoke drifted out and vanished.
“So are you close to catching this guy?”
“What makes you think it’s a guy?”
“Really?” he shook his head as if he was the smart one. Dakota knew a lot of the kids in town. It wasn’t a big place. She saw the same faces every day on the way to work, and knew who the repeat offenders were — those who did graffiti, poached, and got up to general mischief. Mainly it was damage to property and trespassing. Minor stuff, but it got annoying after a while. Jake liked to talk big, but he never stepped over the line until Chloe came along. His old man, Earl, wouldn’t let him get away with it. Earl was a fisherman. A no-nonsense individual who drank hard and spent most of his time out on his 1970 red-and-white, thirty-four-foot lobster boat.
“Where were you Saturday night?”
“Having a few beers with friends. Jason Whittling can confirm it.”
“What about your father?”
“Asleep at home, at least he was when I left there.”
“Okay,” Dakota said while staring out at the bay.
“I thought you said this was about the charges?”
“Yeah, yeah it is.”
“Well?”
“No charges are going to be laid against you.”
He straightened up in the seat. “Against me? He was the one who tossed me out.”
Dakota scratched the side of her nose. “I think we both know what happened, Jake. So let’s just cut to the chase here. I’m going to give you a word of advice. Drop it. He could easily have filed charges against you.”
His face went red. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Well I’m sure Chloe might have something different to say on the matter.”
He let out a slight chuckle. “That’s going t
o be a little difficult now, isn’t it?”
She cast a sideways glance and narrowed her eyes.
“If I find out that you were in any way connected with Chloe’s disappearance, so help me God I will make sure you spend the rest of your young life behind bars.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said sarcastically.
It was something she’d never get used to in Eden Falls. Youngsters didn’t take the police seriously. Maybe because it was a tight-knit community and a number of the parents were on the town council. If you ruffled their feathers, you heard about it. It was one of the reasons why Chief Danvers rode them so hard. Unless it was drastic, they had the discretion to let things slide. Problem was, he let one too many things slide in this town.
Jake stared blankly at her.
“Can I go?”
She nodded.
Dakota stared out of her windshield at him as he came around the front of the car. Between raindrops coming down hard she could have sworn he smirked. He took his time, gave a nod, and hopped back into his car. The music blared, causing her car to vibrate again. A few more seconds and he was gone. It took everything she had to keep from losing her cool. Memories of arguments with Michael bombarded her. Some men weren’t meant to be with women.
She turned over the ignition and reversed out. The car crawled up the steep incline that led down to the harbor. Chewing over her conversation, she lingered behind a stop sign for a few minutes before someone startled her by honking a horn.
Chapter 29
Always dealing with red tape. Ben was sick of it. He wanted to burst into Douglas Adams’s home and search it immediately but that wasn’t how it was done. They needed a stronger reason to search his cabin than he acted like a weirdo and liked to hunt. Half of the population of Maine were hunters, at least that was Chief Danvers’s excuse. Of course it was an exaggeration, but he had a point.
Ben returned home that evening frustrated by the lack of decent leads. They now had two dead bodies, two missing girls, and a smidgen of insight from the medical examiner’s report.
It didn’t help that a reporter from the Henri Bruns case had shown up in town. Edwin Parker was a sleazy reporter who would do anything for a story. He had been arrested for breaking and entering into Ben’s home after the death of his wife and son. There were no lengths this man wasn’t prepared to go to in order to dig up dirt.
The headline of the tabloid called The Eagle was “Renowned FBI Agent Fails to Catch Serial Killer.”
He wasn’t bothered by the title, it was the photos that he’d stolen from his home and published without permission that pissed him off. The lawyers had a field day with him and the tabloid company tossed him out on his ear. Now some would think that he would have given up but after serving some time he was back out and back to his old tricks. This time however it was with a completely different tabloid.
It made him sick to his stomach.
Ben poured himself a scotch and tried to convince himself that he was doing all he could to find her. He now understood what it was like for parents with a missing child. The utter despair and the sense of guilt. That you hadn’t done enough. That you could do more. His mind was constantly being bombarded.
The next time his phone rang he didn’t answer it. He wasn’t going to get into a game with that lunatic. He wanted Ben to believe he could help catch him. But that was just a lie, a means to taunt him. The FBI had run a trace on the call but Bruns had used some type of routing system that forwarded the calls to an internet café where he was using VOIP software to phone. They had managed to track down two of the cafes but none of them had surveillance. You had to be more than smart to catch these types of killers. Most of the time it required a great deal of luck.
His eyelids were heavy. Sitting in his chair with the Glock 22 beside him, all he wanted to do was get out there and shoot the bastard that had taken his daughter.
For years he had caught these creeps and the justice system had locked them up but that wasn’t justice. Nor was offering them forgiveness for their crimes. He wanted them to pay. He wanted to see them suffer the way their victims had.
He wasn’t sure when he fell asleep but again his dreams were filled with the terror of losing Elizabeth and Adam. This time, however, when he saw them in his dream Elizabeth spoke to him. She blamed him for not watching over Chloe.
When Ben’s eyelids snapped open, he found himself gasping for air. He took another drink to steady his nerves. His phone showed four messages. He knew they were from him. Nate told him to change the phone number, but he knew he would find the next one. That’s what kept him ahead of the law. His ability to outsmart the police.
Sitting in the sunroom at night there was a sense that he was being watched. He grabbed his .40 and moved towards the window and gazed out. It was dark outside but he could see the moon’s reflection on the water. He moved to the back door and opened it. The sound of waves lapping against the shore and animals rustling in the surrounding forest was all that could be heard.
He was about to go back inside when he caught out the side of his eye a figure moving between the trees. It was subtle at first. But then the moon’s light reflected off them.
Ben turned sharply and ran towards the tree line. The figure bolted, and he gave chase. Pushing his way through thick undergrowth he saw the silhouette darting in and out.
He raised his weapon. “Stop, I’ll shoot.”
They weren’t going to stop. He considered firing for a second but without knowing who it was or why they were there, he lowered the Glock. It wasn’t like in the movies where you could just randomly shoot at anyone. Every time that gun was pulled, papers had to be filled out, and an explanation had to be given as to why. And god forbid if you fired and someone was hit. They would take your badge and gun and treat you like a criminal. It then became a matter of whether you were justified in using force.
Eventually he made his way back. They knew these woods better than him. It was like they had just vanished into thin air. Had he imagined it? He had been taking headache medication and drinking. It was possible that the alcohol was playing tricks on him.
Could it have been Bruns? The thought that he was watching him from a distance sent a shiver up his spine. It wasn’t that he was afraid of him, he was afraid of what he might do if he ever got his hands on Bruns before anyone else did.
He’d chewed over scenarios in his head for the past two years but it only pained him. There was nothing that could be done. Bruns wanted him to feel the pain, to be reminded every day that he had lost and Bruns had escaped. It was all a game to him. Nothing more.
As he trudged back towards the house feeling defeated, his phone buzzed. This time it was an email with an attachment. He clicked it to see who it was from, a second passed and then a photo came up on his screen. He felt his stomach sink.
Chapter 30
Nate had taken away his phone to get them to trace where the sick photo had come from.
“It’s him, isn’t it?”
“We don’t know that.”
“Bullshit! Of course we do, Nate. He’s back to finish off what he started. All of this was just a game. He’s been playing games from the start trying to make us think that it’s someone else but it’s him. He’s got Chloe and I’m not going to see her alive again.”
It was just after ten in the morning. Nate and several of the agents from Bangor FBI were at his house. Some of the local officers were out in the woods searching for anything that might have been dropped by the visitor in the night. Dakota was chatting to the chief.
“All we know right now is that he figured out your phone number and he saw what was released in the media.”
“That photo must have come from the same place that he was sending me phone calls from. Tell me, how else could he get hold of that photo?”
“Maybe he’s in contact with whoever is behind these murders, or perhaps that photo didn’t come from him.”
The frustration and tension in the home was
high that morning. The photo was a clear shot of Chloe with her eyes closed, on a bed. There was no way of knowing if she was alive or dead. Her mouth was bound with a cloth, and her wrists zip tied to posts. The top half of her was naked. Whoever sent it was making a statement. This wasn’t taunting, it was about driving home a message that he was in control. He was the one who had the power to kill her or keep her alive. That’s why another body had been found. He wanted to let the police know that whether they were investigating this case or not, he would still go about his work.
He was above them, uncatchable. Or perhaps he wanted to be caught. It wouldn’t have been the first time that a serial killer had left behind messages. Some were clear. Blood on a wall that said, “Catch me please, I can’t stop killing.” Others were less obvious. It was like they were fighting a war inside themselves — between that which they knew was right and the demon that drove them on.
While the storm had subsided, and the sky was clearer, a storm was still raging inside of Ben. As much as he was trying to keep it under control, it was becoming even more difficult.
Ben went upstairs to get away from the noise of police, phone calls being made, and investigators arguing over the implications of this on the community. Who gave a damn about the community, at this rate there wouldn’t be one left. It had already been torn apart as the public started pointing the finger at the police’s inability to do their job.
Inside of Chloe’s room, Ben could see officers scouring the forest. They weren’t going to find anything. If this was Bruns he wouldn’t be that stupid. He cast a glance around the room. It was still the way she had left it. The bed unmade, her guitar on the side, a stack of mystery books on a shelf, and her sparring gloves. He couldn’t fight back the tears any longer. He was a father first, then a detective. He grabbed a few tissues from a side table and wiped his face.
He picked up one of the gloves.
