by Janie Crouch
Sherry didn’t know if she could believe him or not. “Really?”
“Oh, sweetheart, as much as I’d like to steal you away, I could feel his eyes shooting daggers into the back of my skull the moment I touched you in the condo. I’ve kissed everyone he’s ever known, including his mother, and he’s never had any sort of reaction. This morning? He was ready to rip my head off.”
“He didn’t say or do anything.”
“Trust me, I know. Han noticed, too, I’m sure. Although he’s too polite to say anything about it. Trust me more about this—Jon Hatton can handle whatever ‘crazy’ you’ve got to throw at him, although I can tell by talking to you that your crazy is not nearly as toxic as you think it is.”
“But—”
“When it comes to Hatton, there are no buts. Once he’s decided you mean enough to him for him to help you shoulder your burden, it doesn’t matter how big that burden is. He’s going to help. He’s decided that with you. And the amount of time spent together has nothing to do with the decision.”
Could Liam be right?
“Oh, I am always right, darlin’.” He answered her unspoken question as if he could read her mind. “Now let’s get the groceries and get back so we can put your poor beau out of his misery.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“I was looking at these files on the way down. This is a pretty interesting guy you’ve got here,” Brandon said, reading back through the account of the third victim.
Jon knew for Brandon Han to say someone was “interesting” meant they had an unusual perpetrator on their hands. Brandon was a certified genius. He had something like three advanced degrees, could speak a dozen different languages and could run multiple different scenarios in his head at the same time like a computer.
The man was nicknamed “The Machine” because of that, although Jon didn’t think people called him that to his face.
When Brandon began really looking at all the angles of a crime, it was a sight to behold—almost spooky. And for him to call someone “interesting” meant the rapist probably had a genius IQ, which wasn’t surprising given the complete lack of evidence at the crime scenes.
“There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to how he picks his victims,” Jon said in agreement. “The women are different ages, different heights, weights, body sizes, have different hair color, hell, even skin color as of the last victim. None of them knew each other and all are from different socioeconomic backgrounds. Some well-off, some barely making by. One was a student.”
“That’s what I mean. Interesting. Serial rapists almost always tend to have a type. A pattern or ritual they are following.”
“Yeah, well, if he does, I can’t see it. I’ve tried to back away from it, to see if I can spot the pattern if I look at it from a further distance, but, honestly, I’ve got nothing.”
“Maybe it’s not the women who are his MO. Maybe it’s the situation itself.”
Jon nodded. “I thought that, too. There are really only two similarities in all the cases. They all occurred in doorways and they all involved the perp striking the women immediately to stun and effectually blind them, but not hard enough to do permanent damage.”
Brandon lined up the hospital photos of all six women next to each other. Their bruised faces placed so closely together were a gruesome sight. “The attacks all happened at different times of day, different days of the week, right?”
“Yes. A week to two weeks between each attack—but no set length of time in between.” That had been one of the first patterns Jon looked for. “Most at the women’s homes, although one was at a hotel.”
“The locations themselves could be an important role,” Brandon said. “Especially once the city became aware there was a serial rapist at large. He had to choose places where he wouldn’t be noticed or identified.”
“Yes, so that has to take some planning.”
“Absolutely.”
“And the bruising.” Brandon pointed to the pictures on the table. “Looking at the women, it’s easy to see that this is the same guy. You’ve got similar bruises in the same location of the face.”
Jon agreed. “Guy is controlled. He’s not hitting these women out of anger. He has a definite purpose in how he strikes them—it’s part of his plan, of what he’s trying to accomplish.”
They both studied the pictures for a long time, thinking.
Jon leaned back in the kitchen chair, rubbing a weary hand over his face. “Brandon, tell me what I’m missing. You don’t have to sugarcoat it or ease me into it to save my feelings. If you see something I’ve missed, just throw it out there.”
“I know you do a lot more than profile and your job here—as it is everywhere—has been multifaceted and complicated.” Brandon slapped him on his back. “That’s why they sent you instead of me. To deal with all the other stuff I’m terrible at.”
Jon rolled his eyes. “Hasn’t that been a joy?”
“I wish I could just point out something obvious here that you’ve missed and say ‘nanny-nanny-boo-boo, moron, now go arrest the bad guy.’”
Jon chuckled. “But you don’t have anything obvious to point out.”
“All I can give you is my opinion, which is no more or no less valuable than yours.”
“I’ll take it.”
“This guy is all about the planning. I think the rapes themselves are almost secondary. The thrill for him is figuring out the who, when and where he’s going to do it without getting caught.”
Jon nodded. That made sense.
“This is very much about not getting caught. That’s why he got so angry about you guys using Sherry. He’s afraid she’ll be able to help the victims remember something about him. I also think he feels like it’s cheating of some sort on your part to bring her in at this stage of the game.”
Could that be possible? It made sense in a twisted way.
“You’re dealing with a bored genius. He knows how law enforcement works. He knows how forensics works. He knows how the human body works.”
“Why do you say that about the body?”
“Like you said, he hits the women just enough to suit his purposes—making it so they’re dazed and can’t see him. That sort of control? You’d have to know a lot about your own strength and how the bones of the face are made up. None of those women have broken noses or cheekbones. That’s deliberate.”
“I definitely agree.”
“Even more than that, I think it has to do with bruising on his hand. If he hit them hard enough to fracture cheekbones, it would leave marking on his hands for days that would be impossible to miss.”
“That would explain why there are different amounts of time between each attack.” Jon had to admit that made sense.
Brandon shrugged. “Don’t know for sure, but waiting for his hand to completely heal would be a logical reason.”
They studied the pictures.
“He wants a challenge,” Brandon continued. “He’s probably highly successful in whatever line of work he’s in, which would definitely be white collar.”
“Victim six, Jasmine Houze, thinks he was wearing a white office shirt. So literally white collar.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if this guy is a CEO or something. He’s used to planning things to the minutest detail, a habit that translates into his crimes. The rapes are his newest challenge, since he’s probably bored in whatever field he works in. Although highly successful.”
Brandon sat back, crossing his arms over his chest. “I think you’re dealing with a bored genius who wondered for years what crimes he could get away with and then finally started putting them into practice.”
Jon got the distinct feeling that concept might have struck just a little too close to home for Brandon. The man was a loner. Jon couldn’t recall ever
seeing him casually hanging out with anyone.
Not that he was a rapist or about to commit any other crimes. But the bored genius part? That was definitely Brandon.
“Jon, I wouldn’t be surprised if he escalates. To use poker terms, you anted up, and he’s calling. You brought Sherry into this, so he’ll do something to counter.”
“Speaking of Sherry, where the hell are they? It’s not like we need groceries for a month.”
“You worried about her safety or you worried about her with Liam?” Brandon asked.
“Safety, of course. Goetz is a putz.”
A putz that women went gaga over. If he kissed Sherry again, Jon would have to see how good his knowledge of the human body was, because he’d definitely be trying to break Liam’s nose.
“Maybe I should call them and make sure they’re all right.”
“If you’re truly worried about safety, you know no one is going to get the drop on Liam. But if you’re worried that he might be talking her into running away with him to a tropical island...” Brandon chuckled.
Liam was his friend, and Jon knew he didn’t have to worry about him really trying to steal Sherry away. But all Jon could see was that pitiful smile she’d given him as she’d eased out of bed this morning, the one that had suggested she thought he didn’t really want her.
He reached for his phone. He’d be damned if she’d turn to Goetz—who Jon was sure would be more than willing to comfort her—because she thought Jon didn’t want her.
They needed to get back to the damn house. Right damn now.
He was looking up Liam’s contact info when the door opened.
“Kids, we’re home.”
Liam was carrying two large bags of groceries. Sherry followed behind him, looking at Liam with that bemused, utterly charmed smile women tended to have around him.
Jon didn’t think about what he was doing, he just grabbed Sherry and pulled her to him, kissing her soundly. He heard her startled gasp before she melted against him and wound her arms around his neck.
He didn’t care about the other two men in the room, didn’t care that they were sure to give him a hard time about this. All he cared about was making sure Sherry knew that hell, yes he still wanted her.
“Ahem, excuse me, I’m going to have to ask you to get your hands off my woman.” Liam’s words eventually penetrated Jon’s mind and he stopped kissing her, reluctantly, although he kept her pinned to his side.
Liam wasn’t actually even paying them any attention since he was putting groceries away. Brandon was studying the case pictures again.
Jon smiled down at Sherry. “I’m glad you two made it back okay and that this clown didn’t talk you into eloping.”
Liam sighed dramatically from across the room.
“Well, here was where I wanted to be.” She smiled up at him, stealing his breath.
He trailed a finger down her cheek. “Here is where you’re wanted.”
“I’m sorry about freaking out last night.”
“No apology necessary. You never have to be sorry for choosing to survive something. You said that to Jasmine, and it’s just as true for you. Anytime I can help you do that, carry some of that burden for you, I’m glad to do so.”
Sherry looked over at Liam, and Jon looked up in time to see him wink at her from where he was opening a box of cereal. Evidently the two of them had discussed Jon and freak-outs while they were away.
She eased away from him and walked over to the table, looking down at the pictures.
“Here, let me put those away,” Jon said. “There’s no need to look at them.”
“No, it’s okay.” She put out an arm to stop him. “I’m done letting fear get the better of me. There’s work to be done.”
“Do you see, Jon?” Liam said as he shoveled a spoonful of cereal into his mouth. “Do you see why I’m so in love with her?”
Jon could definitely see why he was falling in love with her. Liam be damned.
“Sherry, it says here you project that the rapist is probably around five foot nine or ten?” Brandon asked, seemingly oblivious to everything else being said in the kitchen.
“Yes.” She nodded. “That’s based on the neck angle of victim number one—Tina Wescott—when he first entered her doorway. Hopefully I’ll be able to confirm that when I talk to the other women.”
Brandon looked over at Jon. “The rapist being that height—pretty short for a man—would fit the profile we were discussing earlier.”
Jon held out a chair for Sherry and then sat in the one next to her. “He’s probably tried to overcompensate for his height his whole life. It may be why he chose rapes as his crime—because he’s always felt like he had something to prove with women.”
“Exactly,” Brandon agreed. “The tattoo is interesting. It’s placed on his body somewhere where you only see it if he decides to show it to you.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if he has others,” Jon said.
Brandon nodded. “Me, either. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised to find he has tattoos commemorating his victims.”
“I’ll send locals out to tattoo shops to see if there are any repeat customers coinciding with the attack dates.” It was a long shot, Jon knew, but was at least something. Although a man that smart probably wouldn’t use the same shop more than once.
“I want to talk to the other victims,” Sherry said. “We can’t wait any longer. You’ll just have to help me get through it.”
Jon stretched his arm around the back of her chair and squeezed her. “Okay. I’ll set them up. But I don’t want to do it at the police station. I still am not sure one of those guys isn’t the attacker.”
Brandon shrugged. “Any number of law-enforcement officers—especially high-ranking or ones on the force for a long time—could fit the profile. They’d know how to hit. They’d know what to look for in a location where they wouldn’t be seen. They’d know about forensic evidence and how not to leave any.”
That was what Jon was afraid of. And he definitely wasn’t going to keep working in their building if he was basically hand-delivering all the information the perp needed to keep successfully committing crimes.
“I’ll go to their houses or wherever they’re staying. That’s probably better for them anyway,” Sherry said.
“Are you sure?” he asked her. Yeah, things were becoming more critical. But Jon didn’t want to lose sight of the fact that Sherry was still in a delicate emotional place. He wanted her help with this case, but he also wanted to make sure she was going to be able to function after it was over.
“I can do this.” Her voice was stronger, more assured, than it had ever been when she was talking about the case. “Just don’t let me go under.”
“I won’t.” He kissed the side of her head as he stood to go make the calls.
He wondered if this bastard knew that by bringing the fight directly to Sherry’s doorstep he would awaken the warrior in her rather than cause her to cower. It had been the wrong move on his part on multiple different levels.
And it was going to be the reason why they caught him.
Chapter Twenty-Two
True to her word, Sherry spent the next two days interviewing the other women. She worked with them tirelessly. She laughed with them, cried with them. She knew the most intimate details about their lives by the time she finished.
She was obviously much more comfortable—or at the very least much more focused—than she had been when interviewing Tina Wescott at the station a couple of days ago. Although there hadn’t been any facial descriptions to draw, Sherry had been ready with her sketch pad. She’d been ready to work through any of her emotional walls and draw, if they did think of something.
For each interview she sat the woman facing a blank wall. And, as with Tina, w
alked them back to an hour before the crime. She would start by asking them for general descriptions, and then rewind and start again, each time focusing on different sets of details.
She was able to confirm that the man’s height was no more than five foot ten. More than one victim felt that he had darker skin. Not African-American, but highly tanned Caucasian or perhaps even of Mexican or South American descent. One woman remembered his shoes with vivid clarity.
Unfortunately, Nike sold a few hundred thousand pairs of those types of athletic shoes any given year.
Jon and Brandon had been with Sherry for each interview, although usually out of the way. Liam had left yesterday for his other case.
“She’s really very good at what she does,” Brandon observed.
“I know.”
“She doesn’t hold back, she gets right there into the moment with them. It’s one of the reasons she’s so good.”
“It’s also one of the reasons why she’s suffering from post-traumatic stress,” Jon said.
“Yeah, she’ll have to find a way to protect herself better emotionally.”
Jon had made sure he was always nearby in case the debilitating chills came back. A couple of times she had stopped and taken a break from an interview and sought him out.
Usually after he’d pulled her close, or they’d taken a walk, or a few deep breaths, she’d been able to pull herself out of the dark place she’d been heading.
“She’s learning that taking a break for her own sanity is just as okay as the victim needing a break,” Jon said. “She had the drawing skills and she had the obvious interviewing and people skills, so the Bureau scooped her right up.”
“But nobody made sure she had the emotional resources to cope with what she was doing.”
“Exactly.”
“She’ll get there.”
“I plan to make sure of that.” The more Jon knew her, the more he hoped being around to help keep her grounded would become a permanent job for him.
