Heal Me

by Grady, D. R.

  Jenna turned to him and her heart fluttered. “There’s a basement.”

  “Finished?” he asked.

  “Almost,” she answered with a quicksilver grin before turning to the stairs.

  Owen strolled through the lower part of the house. He paced silently through the rooms checking for any signs of danger.

  He made certain each lock and the door to the outside were secure. He made a mental note to purchase a better deadbolt for the walkout basement door. The current one was flimsy and this door was the most accessible. He realized as he returned to the main level that he could be very happy living in this house, finishing these rooms downstairs, protecting this woman.

  McCully met up with him at the base of the stairs to the second level. “Top level is clear,” she informed him.

  “Attic?”

  “There is one, but no way can someone get through the windows except a child or a small woman. What about your areas?”

  “The basement door needs a stronger lock,” he replied gruffly, catching sight of Jenna as she descended the stairs. His heart tripped a beat before racing. He attempted to control his unruly pulse, but his breath caught. He gave up trying for control and instead decided to conceal what was happening. McCully’d be on him like a flea to a dog if she figured out his troubles.

  What would Jenna Fields do, he wondered?

  He and McCully dropped Jenna off at the hospital – he escorted her in and checked everything. He also had a word with the security guards he came across. The purpose was to make certain they remained extra alert tonight and also so he had their images in his head so he could track them down if something happened to this woman.

  Owen shook his head at his own delusions. Like he had any right to feel possessive about Dr. Jenna Fields. Yet he couldn’t shake the fact that he did. Right now, he needed to worry about her safety. Once they knew she was out of danger, then he’d make his move. And heaven help him if she said no.

  With a hand thrust through his hair, Owen stalked outside and scanned the area, watching for anything that caught his eye. He wasn’t about to leave knowing he’d taken Jenna to a place where she might be at risk.

  The Gentleman Caller was a freak.

  He seemed to take his victims at random. Then he brutally raped them, and left them neat and tidy, usually in the woman’s own bed. Their clothes were neatly folded and placed beside them, bodies scrubbed scrupulously clean. So far, he’d left all his victims unconscious, with an odd, sweet odor clinging to their breath. If the Gentleman Caller so much as touched Jenna Fields, badge or no, Owen planned to take the creep apart.

  Jenna sighed as she watched Owen O’Maley walk away from her. She couldn’t help but admire his walk just as she couldn’t shake off the feeling she was being abandoned. A ridiculous thought. She’d spent countless hours in this particular room in this particular hospital. She knew the entire building so well, she could probably conduct tours blindfolded. Yet it was one of the hardest things she had ever done watching him walk into the night, the door quietly sliding shut behind him. It made his departure final.

  “Dr. Fields, please report to the ER, Dr. Fields, to the ER, stat.” Jenna glared at the intercom in the ceiling and cut off the exasperated sigh she really wanted to emit. Apparently, some rat had informed the Head of the Emergency Room of her presence. She’d already put in a full day at the office, but apparently, she would end up with a full night in the ER, too. And to think she seriously believed that upon completing her residency she would finally get some sleep.

  “So, sport, whadaya think about this new case?” McCully asked as they climbed back into the car.

  “What do you mean what do I think?” Owen growled at her, his mind furiously trying to reconcile that they just left a beautiful, amazing woman to any freak who entered the ER. How had he been able to turn around and walk away?

  “What are we going to do?” McCully asked, shattering his thought process as she continued the conversation she started. “I mean, besides stopping to get grub? I’m hungry.”

  O’Maley shot her a disgruntled, exasperated look. “McCully, you’re always hungry. How you don’t weigh 300 pounds, I don’t know.”

  “There’s Marty’s, pull in,” she exclaimed, grabbing his arm and tugging as she used her other hand to point to the rather obvious convenience store they frequented.

  He obediently turned into the parking lot, knowing they would need some calories if they intended to stay out half the night. He figured that was a rather hopeful approximation. The Gentleman Caller would more likely keep them out all night. At least he usually had the courtesy to call the cops and inform them of his deeds after he left the woman. The creep always used a different phone, and so far they had no witnesses.

  When they crawled back into the car after purchasing some snacks, his cell phone chirped. Owen threw his bag on the seat and scooped up the device. “O’Maley.”

  “Where are you?” his captain demanded.

  “At Marty’s,” Owen answered, watching McCully rip the tab off her coffee container before taking a huge slurp.

  “I hear your partner, come back to the station,” Captain Sharpe said.

  “That’s where we’re headed. We’ve got more on the Gentleman Caller,” he replied.

  “What have you got?” Sharpe’s voice held a sudden quiet interest, and Owen figured he and McCully were about to be transferred to the Gentleman Caller case fulltime.

  “How about we show you once we get back to the station?” Owen asked politely. Even if the transfer wasn’t in his captain’s brain at the moment, it would be by the time they left his office tonight. No one else was going to be assigned to protect Jenna Fields. He crushed the niggling, nasty little voice that kept taunting him that this case had become personal and he needed to back off. Jenna Fields’s life could be at stake. And he wasn’t taking chances.

  He was so hungry, so terribly hungry. He needed to work again. Someone would feel his hunger, would understand his power, his complete control. He had so much to offer, and so little time to assuage his need. The affect would soon wear off, and he had informed Jenna Fields of his intentions.

  As a gentleman he certainly needed to keep his word. Otherwise, he would lose face. So often that was his experience as a child, when he was helpless, but now, in adulthood, he would prove his brilliance. No one had credited him with intelligence and stature before, but now, yes now people were taking him seriously.

  The fear in each woman’s eyes as he took them sent such ecstasy through him. How he longed for the release now that only a woman could provide. A frightened, helpless woman. What would she look like today? Who deserved his attentions?

  Ah, but of course. The snooty red-haired bank teller. She’d been so uncooperative, so snide, she treated him as though he was unworthy of her help. He didn’t like women who treated him that way. They reminded him of his childhood. Of a time when he hadn’t been brilliant and deserving of praise. But now, alas, he was deserving of everything a woman could give. He no longer even had to ask permission. He could take anything he wanted.

  He laughed a high, happy sound that made him feel better immediately. Since proving his brilliance, he was worthy of anything he wanted. His boss told him this frequently. His boss appreciated his efforts, his desire to excel, his need for perfection. That red-headed bank teller would understand this before the day was out. Her name had been Robin. Fitting.

  Glancing at his watch, he saw that the bank would be closing now. He would follow Robin home and then prove to her how deserving he was of her praise. She would learn soon enough not to look down on him. Oh no, she’d learn that despite the circumstances of his birth, he was a gentleman.

  Jenna Fields would fix anything he did to the teller, and tonight he planned see if Robin’s blood matched her hair.

  Chapter 2

  The dispatcher who took the call didn’t panic when she answered the summons.

  “Derry Township Police Department Dispatch.
I’m number twenty,” she said calmly.

  “I did it, I got another one,” the man chortled. His voice was just a little too high, a little too excited, a little too gleeful for her to assume he didn’t speak the truth. She had dealt with him before.

  “Where?” she asked quietly.

  “Route 743,” he said and rattled off the address negligently, as though he didn’t care in the least whether they discovered this woman or not.

  “What will we find?”

  “You’ll have to figure that out on your own,” he cackled and hung up the phone.

  The dispatcher relayed the information to the necessary people before she took the next call. A good dispatcher learned early on not to take any call to heart. She was more effective if she remained professional and calm. Instead she handled the situation and moved on to the next caller.

  O’Maley and she had just finished up with the chief and crawled back into the car when they got the call. Melson, the officer on patrol had the information they sought. She took a sip from her coffee cup, relieved she and O’Maley were officially assigned to the case.

  “Gentleman Caller victim – on Route 743.” The patrol officer’s voice burst into the interior of the car.

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m three miles from the site.”

  “What’d dispatch say?” O’Maley asked as he spun the wheel and headed for the address.

  “Just that he called and gloated.”

  “How bad?”

  “He hung up before she could get all that information,” the cop said in disgust.

  O’Maley grunted as he turned right and accelerated out of the turn. “At least he gave us an address.”

  “Right. Let’s hope he’s stayed true to form, and she’s in decent shape,” the patrol officer said.

  “Let’s hope,” O’Maley echoed before disconnecting.

  Something ugly clenched in the vicinity of TJ’s stomach as they pulled in behind the patrol car. The flashing red, white, and blue lights somehow made the scene seem far more official. As a cop, she’d seen some pretty bad things, but that still didn’t make crime scenes any easier to witness.

  She followed O’Maley into the apartment where the smell of fresh blood wafted in the air.

  Her stomach muscles tightening in response, TJ shot a glance at O’Maley.

  His face had gone cold and emotionless, and she realized she needed to do the same. She wouldn’t be able to help this victim if she allowed her emotions to overwhelm her. Right now this woman needed assistance, and TJ was determined to offer this poor woman all of the skills at her disposal.

  When the calm finally settled over her, TJ breathed in relief. The breaths didn’t lessen the scent of blood hanging like a veil in the air, but it did allow her to think professionally. Her job was to find the people who committed crimes. More importantly, the person who had commited this particular crime.

  When they reached the bedroom, TJ didn’t miss the red hair of the woman laid out precisely and perfectly on the bed. Nor did she miss the blood in the matted hair. The woman’s bare body had been scrubbed scrupulously clean, but the attacker had left the blood in her hair. Why?

  The victim, as per the Gentleman Caller’s M.O., was unconscious. Her eyelashes cast spiky shadows across her pale cheeks. She lay completely naked and vulnerable on the bed. The rapist had left her hands folded across her abdomen, as though she slept peacefully. There was little evidence she had been raped, except that she was stripped of her clothing. To be safe the emergency room doctor would use a hospital rape kit. And as per the previous rapes, TJ figured they would discover some internal damage.

  She and O’Maley scoured the room, looking for hair, footprints, clothing, anything that would give them an idea of who had done this. As technicians lifted the woman onto a stretcher, whom they learned was named Robin McKane, O’Maley moved in with a UV light, intent on finding semen. The Gentleman Caller was renowned for not leaving traces of himself. But they still searched. If only he’d grow overconfident and sloppy.

  “I’ve got something,” O’Maley announced in grim triumph.

  “What?” TJ hurried across the room to his side.

  He pointed to a blood smear on the bed post. The smear was slightly under and away from the bed. There was enough of the fluid to detect at least a partial fingerprint. Glee raced through her as she stared at the print.

  O’Maley wasted no time in calling crime scene technicians into the room to record the evidence. They’d most likely already gone through much of the house taking random prints, but now they would finish in the woman’s bedroom. That one little print could mean so much, providing the print didn’t match the victim’s own finger.

  They would also sample the blood to determine the blood type. The Gentleman Caller in the past had merely left a defiled victim in his wake. He had never left a bloodied victim before, so this was a new aspect to his M.O. Perhaps he’d become careless in his lust to overcome the women he selected. Then another thought occurred to her.

  “Do you think this could be a copycat crime?” she asked O’Maley.

  His curt nod did not reassure her. “Always a possibility.”

  TJ thought of the possibilities and complications to an already difficult case that a copycatter would provide. The Gentleman Caller didn’t normally bloody his victims. He typically left them without a trace of himself.

  “What does this mean?”

  O’Maley stared at her for a moment before replying. She could practically feel the brain waves emitting from him. “Either we’ve got a copycat, or the Gentleman Caller has changed his M.O., or the slimeball is finally getting sloppy.”

  “Which do you believe is the case?”

  “Not enough facts to determine,” he replied with a negative shake of his head.

  TJ accepted his statement. They didn’t have much to go on. Quietly, they finished their investigation of the woman’s home and the area surrounding it before getting back into the car to head for the hospital. They had some questions for Miss McKane, and hoped she could provide some answers.

  When the stretcher came in that night, Jenna didn’t want to deal with the woman lying so still on it. Especially after she saw the blood in the matted red hair. The woman was pale and still unconscious. Jenna cast a concerned glance over her, gauging her condition as best she could.

  “She awoke long enough to consent to the rape kit,” a nurse said in passing.

  The same nurse passed her a rape kit, which Jenna used, checking off what she had done as she went. She didn’t harbor any hopes that the test would provide them with much information, but she performed the task anyway. If the Gentleman Caller had gotten sloppy, this kit would provide some answers. If he had been his usual careful self however, they’d be out of luck. Again.

  After placing the last swab in a paper bag, Jenna probed the woman’s skull until she found the slash marks. The area around the cuts appeared angry and evil. So red, too red. Jenna frowned as she scrutinized the area. She swabbed away the blood with a moistened medical swab and popped the tip into a tube with a sterile solution. It was necessary to run some tests on the contents of those swabbings. Something didn’t fit well with the marks.

  Stepping back, she stared at the slash marks a little longer. Something about them bothered her and she couldn’t pinpoint why. Her assisting nurse stared at the marks with her. He figured out the problem.

  “Those marks are exactly the same length across, exactly the same distance apart. Why?”

  Jenna stared at the marks with wide eyes. “Of course Jerome, that’s it.”

  “What?” Bemusement laced his question.

  “They are exactly an inch and a half in length, and they’re exactly a half inch apart. Let’s take a look at the other side of her head.”

  With gentle, gloved hands, they turned the woman’s head and looked for more marks like those on the left side. Jenna didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed when they didn’t loc
ate more of the cuts.

  “I believe we can conclude our Gentleman Caller is right handed,” she stated.

  Jerome nodded. “Because the marks are on the left side of her head. What do you think he used to make the incisions?”

  Jenna started at his usage of the term ‘incision.’ “They are incisions, aren’t they?”

  Jerome’s face wreathed in lines of concentration. “I didn’t finish up my surgery rotation so long ago and these look a lot like those Dr. Brunner makes.”

  “You’re right, you’re exactly right. They do look like incisions made by a surgeon,” Jenna commented distractedly as she perused the precise cuts longer.

  “But why?”

  “Why do we make incisions?” Jenna returned.

  “Because we want to take something out that’s causing problems,” he began.

  “Right. And sometimes to check on things. Or?” she continued.

  “Or to add something,” he finished.

  “Exactly. I’m betting something got added here.”

  “What do you think it was?”

  “Remember some of the other victims?”

  Jerome nodded solemnly. “Hard to forget them,” he spoke like a true member of his profession.

  “They were all unconscious when they arrived, right?”

  “Yes,” Jerome said tightly, and blew out a breath.

  “Well, I’m thinking he used these incisions to add whatever he used to knock her out.”

  “He doesn’t seem to use the same method, or the same drug, does he?” Jerome mused.

  Jenna bit the inside of her cheek. “No, it appears he’s trying something different each time.”

  “But why?”

  “If you were a rapist, what are you after?”

  Jerome’s dark skin didn’t flush, but his brow pleated. “Sex?” he replied hesitantly.