Over the Borderline

by Leanna Floyd

  “Luke, my man! What’s up? Did I forget to give you something?”

  “Not at all,” he said, producing a single sheet of paper, which he handed to Jacob. “It was about the easiest trace I’ve ever done—took me all of twelve minutes, I think. I feel guilty taking your money—”

  “You found her IP address already?” Jacob couldn’t contain his excitement.

  “Yes,” said Luke, looking like a big Labrador. “It’s registered to a guy named Hector Gonzalez.”

  Chapter 32

  Saturday night ended up being much quieter than Brooke expected. She had called Jacob before leaving campus, impressed with his idea to trace Alicia’s IP address. He had ended their call quickly, calling her “Ms. DeMato” when apparently a co-worker walked in. She had tried him again once she was back home, but it went straight to voicemail, so she texted him but no response there either. Kevin, too, had not called her back yet.

  The combination of curiosity about Alicia and nervous excitement about her big day at the Barton trial produced a jittery feeling inside her. Rummaging through her fridge, she found nothing appetizing but knew she needed to eat. Greek yogurt and granola, her favorite go-to, would do the trick. With so much nervous energy, she figured she might as well try and work some more. She scanned through various articles she had emailed to herself from one of the library’s specialized research databases. One in particular caught her eye, an updated profile on Dennis Rader, the infamous BTK Killer from Wichita, Kansas.

  Rader had long fascinated Brooke, in part because he appeared so ‘normal’ on the surface of his life. Raised by church-going parents, Rader was a son, brother, father, husband, church leader, a respectable and helpful figure in the community, and an American Vet. He lived an unremarkable and simple life and appeared quiet, gentle, and harmless to those around him. With a medium build and soft mid-section, glasses, and neatly groomed facial hair to make up for his bald head, Rader looked like any other middle-aged Midwesterner.

  Only, of course, he wasn’t. Beneath that benign exterior, a keen intelligence and violent sexuality constantly simmered. Brooke noted the way Rader would stalk his victims, primarily women, waiting to attack until they were sleeping or in the shower, at their most vulnerable and defenseless state. Rader would enter an individual’s home when she was away and hide in her attic or under her bed. In these places, Rader could watch his victims like a hunter watches his prey. His killings were fueled by sadistic fantasies of binding and torturing women, and he got off on playing over and over in his mind various sexual scenarios.

  As the writer, producer, and actor in his own sick fantasies, Rader also left his signature at the scenes of his crimes, his own semen. Brooke knew it was not the killings themselves that fueled his hunger; it was the actual premeditation of the events and the replaying of the killings in his twisted mind that fed his dark soul. The thrill and excitement from these fantasies created an insatiable appetite for more, which in turn fueled his killing sprees. He had a need for power that could only be quenched by taking others’ lives and was known as the BTK Killer due to his style of binding, torturing, and killing his victims. Rader treated his victims like they were objects; he dehumanized them and treated them like expendable products that he could throw away.

  Rader was a narcissistic, antisocial sociopath, and Brooke could see similar characteristics and traits in most of the classic cases she had studied. However, as she read through the article right then, something jumped out at her—the way Rader craved public attention and media interaction and yet thought himself invincible, uncatchable.

  Rader’s narcissism was clearly illustrated in his letters to various media outlets in which he complained about not receiving enough coverage on the murders he committed. Rader even went to the extent to suggest names that the police and media should call him. As he revealed more and more about himself with each correspondence, it seemed clear that Rader virtually wanted to be caught. He had no remorse for his actions and viewed killing others as a game, and his victims’ struggling in the game of death was the ultimate prize. Like a champion demanding a gold medal, Rader wanted others to notice what a talented killer he was.

  Brooke found it difficult not to view Rader as a victim of his own hubris, self-deceived into believing his bold success for more than a decade and a half made him untouchable. Rader, though, underestimated the speed and capability with which technology aided forensic evidence. Between the DNA collected from crime scenes and the evidence collected from the dozens of letters, Rader was cornered. He was given a life sentence—ten of them, in fact, one for each victim.

  She expected to dream about the notorious case but slept like a rock until her phone rang Sunday morning. After a quick conversation with the caller, she dialed Jacob’s number.

  “Hey, you up yet?” Brooke asked, already chuckling because they both knew the answer. For as long as they had known each other, she was the early bird, and Jacob, the night owl.

  “Yeah, I’m up,” Jacob replied, his voice an octave lower than normal. “What time is it anyway?”

  “You’re a bad liar—at least this early in the morning,” she said. “It’s a little after nine. I just got a call from Jack Reynolds, and he’s got some information about Alicia and wants to meet me to go over it. I told him I wanted you to be there, and he said no problem. We’re meeting at the Omelet Shoppe on 40th and Magnolia at 10:30.”

  “He didn’t say what he found?” Jacob asked, sounding much more awake.

  “No, like I said, we just had a brief conversation. You and I can find out together if that’s okay.”

  “Yeah, that’s great—I appreciate it, Brookie. I’ll be curious to see if he found out any more than I did yesterday.”

  “Hey, that’s right,” she said. “Did you hear back from your IT guy with Alicia’s IP address?”

  “Yes,” he said. “It’s registered to Hector Gonzalez—who’s starting to sound more like a relative of Alicia’s than her best friend.”

  “Hmm, interesting,” Brooke said. “It could be her brother or something…then again maybe not. Perhaps what Reynolds tells us will shed some light on it.”

  “Let’s hope so,” he said, and she could hear the anxiety in his voice. “I’m just ready to get this over with.”

  “Pick you up in an hour?”

  “Deal—thanks, Brooke.”

  Chapter 33

  Jack Reynolds was already at the restaurant when they arrived, sitting in a corner booth. He looked like a former military man, about six foot, with a tanned, fit body and a firm handshake. Reynolds had salt-and-pepper hair, buzzed short, piercing blue eyes, and a square jawline. In his golf pants and polo shirt, he appeared relaxed but clearly used to being in charge. Brooke found him very attractive.

  She made introductions and they placed their orders. Both she and Jacob had noticed the file folder in front of Reynolds, and the suspense at what it revealed about Alicia was unbearable. Jacob stayed cool, clearly trying to avoid the embarrassment of Reynolds knowing Jacob had been caught by this person claiming to be Alicia Gonzalez. Brooke had already decided to let him lead, and once their coffees arrived, she was relieved to hear him ask, “So, what were you able to find, Mr. Reynolds?”

  “Please, call me Jack,” he said, pausing politely like a doctor unsure about how to break bad news. “Well, it’s not so good. I did some digging and things aren’t adding up. Are you sure you gave me the right name?”

  Brooke said, “Well, it’s the only name we have—Alicia Maria Gonzalez. I sent you her email address, Facebook page—basically everything we know about her.”

  “Yes, that’s the right name! Why? What did you find out?” Jacob’s cool demeanor was wearing thin.

  Reynolds was slow to answer. “Well, I’m not sure how to tell you this, but the young Latina woman in the Facebook pictures looks nothing like who this woman actually is in real life. I mean she’s Hispanic and has light brown hair and eyes, but… this girl is really overweight.�
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  Brooke felt like she could practically read Jacob’s mind: Okay, fat? I can deal with that. Maybe it’s an old picture. So what, we can work on that. She can lose the weight. It’s just diet and exercise, no biggie. On the ride to the restaurant, Brooke knew Jacob was still seriously considering his relationship with Alicia. Despite his uncertainty, suspicion, and anger, he still wanted to believe she was who he thought she was. After all, he did fall in love with Alicia as a person, not just her looks. Brooke knew Jacob liked to believe he was good at fixing things emotionally and physically, and Alicia would be no exception.

  Jacob said, “So, uh…is she fat? Like, how overweight is she?”

  Reynolds answered, “Well, in her driver’s license photo, she looks like she’s about 200 pounds, but it looks like it’s an old picture. In her recent mug shots, I would guess she’s well over 200 pounds. She’s only 5’ 2”."

  She and Jacob both gasped. There were so many stunning, razor-sharp pieces of shrapnel in Reynolds’ bombshell that they didn’t know where to start. Jacob said, “Mug shots—plural? And over 200 pounds?”

  Reynolds nodded, opened the file folder, and slowly pushed it across to them seated together on the opposite side. “Yeah, I’m afraid so. A buddy of mine with the state bureau emailed these to me late last night, I asked for confirmation, and he sent these.” Reynolds displayed two more photos of the same, overweight young woman, apparently taken from surveillance footage at the Dade County Courthouse.

  “Did you find anything else out? What was she arrested for? Why was her license suspended?” Jacob wanted to know everything.

  Reynolds answered, “Well, her license was suspended for driving under the influence on three separate occasions. She was arrested because in one of the DUI incidents, she hit a pedestrian who, fortunately, only suffered minor injuries.”

  “And when did this shoplifting arrest happen?” Brooke said, holding up another photo of the sad, droopy-eyed, spray-tanned, obese woman. Deep-set golden-brown hazel eyes. Round cheeks. Short, thin, mousy brown hair. No smile.

  Jacob was shocked, “Who really is the girl? What did I get myself into? How could I be so stupid? I can’t believe I was so naive! To think we picked out engagement rings… We planned our future. Anything else?”

  “It’s okay, Jacob,” Brooke said, putting her hand on his forearm. “Better to know now. It’s okay.” Jacob just sat there shaking his head, so Brooke waited a minute before asking, “Mr. Reynolds, what about Alicia’s son, Charlie? Does he exist?”

  “Yeah, she does have a son, born in 2010, Charles Daniel Gonzalez. But there are no public records of him missing school this year or being treated in any hospitals or clinics.”

  Brooke looked at Jacob and he seemed frozen, his eyes wide and unblinking.

  “We also know she’s registered as having a red 2008 Honda Civic. She filed for bankruptcy two years ago, and there is a lien on her car. Her home address is actually a rental under her parent’s name. She works at a real estate agency and has filed for unemployment three times in the past four years.”

  Brooke was starting to get worried because Jacob seemed in total shock. His stare looked vacant and his breathing seemed shallow.

  Reynolds continued, “Again, I’m so sorry, Jacob. I wish I had better news. I will keep doing some digging and see what I can find out. But I’m afraid it looks like this woman has not been very truthful with you.”

  Jacob sighed, “Thanks, Mr. Reynolds. As hard as all this is to hear, I’m grateful to you for uncovering the truth. What do I owe you?”

  “Nothing,” said Reynolds, scooting out of the booth. “It’s all taken care of.”

  Jacob and Brooke stood as well to shake Reynolds’ hand. Brooke said, “I can’t thank you enough, Jack. I’ll be in touch later about that other matter.”

  He nodded, patted Jacob on the shoulder, and left the restaurant. They watched him get into a blue classic Mercedes convertible, probably at least 20 years old, and drive away. Brooke slid into the side where Reynolds had been sitting and took both of Jacob’s hands in hers.

  “It’s going to be okay,” she said. “We knew this might be a possibility, and at least, now you know. I’m here for you, Jacob. You don’t need her.”

  “What kind of person gets off on pulling shit like this?” he asked, his shock starting to wear off and reveal the blister of rage beneath. “Was she after me for money? Or just to see how stupid I was? And why me?”

  “Who the hell knows, babe?” she said. “People like this… I tried to tell you before, borderline personality disorder can be a real mess. These people thrive on creating chaos wherever they go. She may not even know why she does what she does.”

  Jacob was shaking his head again before exploding, “How could this happen to me? Why me? Am I not worthy of love? Am I not good enough for a hot woman that actually exists? What about all of our conversations? How could she play me for a fool? Am I really this stupid, Brooke? Tell me, am I? Please let this be a bad dream! Dear God, please wake me up and tell me this never happened.”

  Jacob pushed his fingers through his hair before burying his face in both hands.

  Tears had started to flow, and Brooke knew they were likely tears of grief as well as anger. On the surface, this kind of loss should be easier to handle than an actual death. But Brooke knew from her studies, that any time a primary relationship is ripped apart, no matter the circumstances, the same intense pain emerged.

  She pulled a twenty from the wallet in her purse, placed it beneath her coffee cup, and collected the various photos and replaced them in the folder Reynolds had left.

  Brooke suddenly felt deeply sad herself, but she wasn’t sure for whom. Certainly, for poor Jacob. But somehow there was a kind of pity and sympathy for this poor girl as well. There’s no telling what kind of life she had endured.

  “Come on, babe,” she said, “let’s get out of here.”

  Chapter 34

  “Hello, I’m looking for Alicia. Is she available?” Jacob said, flashing his most playful smile.

  He hoped he didn’t look as fatigued and distraught as he felt. The four-hour drive to Miami had stretched into almost six with so many additional travelers on the road because of the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday.

  The hours since Sunday morning when Jack Reynolds had revealed the truth about Alicia blurred into a collage of sound bites and memories, all held together by his simmering rage and a bottle of tequila he’d found in the back of his pantry after Brooke left. She had been great and insisted on staying with him, but once he began coming out of his state of shock, Jacob wanted to be alone.

  Apparently, he had convinced Brooke that he was okay enough for her to leave, promising to check on him later in the day. But by the time she called back around five, a plan had started forming in Jacob’s mind. The bottle of Gran Patron was half-empty, but once the seed of his plan took root, he started drinking coffee and made himself a sandwich. If he were going to drive to Miami later that night, the last thing he needed was to be picked up for DUI.

  After eating, he tried to take a nap but found his mind too restless to sleep. He kept replaying conversations with Alicia in his mind, as well as those with Charlie, along with exchanges with Veronica and Hector. Somehow, they were all in on it, but there was no telling what lies Alicia had told them about her mysterious relationship with the Anglo up in Tampa. Jacob still couldn’t grasp what exactly Alicia got out of her deception. She hadn’t asked him for money, and she easily could have, and he would probably have sent it. Her voice carried real sincerity and compassion, a genuine love for him that had seemed so real. Maybe it even was real in her mind. But there was no way in hell they could have a relationship built on a foundation of nothing but lies.

  Jacob must have fallen asleep because he awoke startled and found himself sprawled on the sofa in his condo. Checking his phone, he saw it was almost 2 A.M. He had been dreaming something about Alicia, holding her, wanting to make love to her, but unable
to see her face, and then as she slowly turned toward him, it was the woman in the mug shots laughing at him.

  He got up and made coffee, took a shower, and packed a duffel bag with a couple changes of clothes and his shaving kit. Then he sent an email to Lisa DeMato informing her that his grandmother in Pensacola had just passed away, and he would not be at work for the three days prior to the holiday weekend. He also composed a text to send to Brooke informing her that he needed some time alone and had decided to take off from work and head to Pensacola to visit his grandmother for Thanksgiving. Neither was true, of course. Well, except for the fact that his granny used to live in Florida’s panhandle.

  Jacob was headed to Miami. He wasn’t sure what he would do when he got there, but he knew he would never get through this loss if he didn’t confront the woman who had wrecked his heart and shattered his ability to trust. After filling up his Lexus, Jacob took State Road 618 down to I-75 South, which would take him down and over to Miami. After rehearsing his journey only days ago, he had assumed the early morning hours wouldn’t include as much traffic, but between the constant convoys of eighteen-wheelers and SUVs, presumably traveling because of the holiday, it might as well have been rush hour.

  No worries. He had plenty of time. The person he was going to see didn’t even know he was on his way. He’d missed a call from Alicia earlier while he was asleep as well as a text from her. Later, once he arrived and decided what he was going to do, Jacob would return her text and blame his delayed response on having a cold.

  Meanwhile, he played out various scenarios in his head: waiting at Alicia’s home until she left for work and then breaking in and snooping around or knocking on the door and just watching her expression change as she recognized him or going to her work and seeing her panic as he began to cause a scene. Maybe he would go to Charlie’s school and pretend to be the boy’s uncle or some other relative; Jacob probably knew enough details to pull it off. Jacob would never hurt Charlie, of course, but it would be fun to know Alicia was suffering when her son didn’t return home from school, when she learned that a mysterious Uncle Jacob had picked up Charlie earlier because of a “family emergency”.