The Fifth Victim

by Beverly Barton

  The kiss went on and on; and when they came up for air, Dallas moved his lips up the side of her face to her ear, then down her neck and over to her throat. She rubbed herself against him, her breasts against his chest, her legs against his. And then he kissed her again. Deeper. More intense.

  I love you, Genny told him telepathically, knowing he wasn’t ready to hear the words aloud.

  Drudwyn whimpered. Dallas slowly ended the kiss and lifted his head. Genny sighed.

  “What are you, our chaperone?” Dallas looked squarely at the wolf-dog.

  Genny laughed. “I think he’s just hungry. He knows Ludie has fixed fried chicken for supper.”

  “Then maybe we should head back to the house.” Dallas wrapped his arm about her waist.

  “You aren’t staying the night with me, are you?” she asked as they turned and faced the east.

  “Sally told me she planned to stay with you tonight,” Dallas replied. “And when Ludie found out Sally was staying, then she decided she’d stay, too.”

  Genny reached down and took Dallas’s big hand into her small one. “I have an idea how I can help you find the killer. I’ll come into town tomorrow and—”

  “What have you got in mind?” Dallas slowed his gait and reversed their hands so that he enclosed her hand in his.

  “I can try to link with the killer’s mind again. I did it for a few brief moments this morning.”

  “Hell, no!” Dallas stopped in the middle of the road. “It’s too dangerous for you. Isn’t it?”

  Genny couldn’t look him in the eye and lie to him. She kept her gaze focused on the road ahead. “There might be some danger, but you’d be there. And Jacob would be there, too. If I got sucked in too deep, I’d have a lifeline. You could pull me back—”

  “Forget it.” Dallas squeezed her hand and resumed walking.

  She had to increase her speed just to keep up with him.

  “Don’t be angry with me. I just want to help you…and help Jacob. This terrible man has already murdered so many women.”

  “We’ll find him.” Dallas slowed to a normal gait. “But we’ll do it without endangering your life.”

  She knew better than to argue the point with him right now. But she was well aware of what she had to do, what she must do, to stop the killings. If she could connect with the killer’s mind again, she might be able to discover his identity.

  He sat curled up in his chair by the fireplace and happily recalled recent events as he watched and rewatched the taped newscasts that had been playing on and off all day on WMMK. He was becoming quite famous in Cherokee Pointe, and he had them all stumped. Every stupid lawman working on the case.

  He licked his lips. Ah, Misty Harte’s blood had been delicious. And empowering. And the unexpected mind-meld with Genny Madoc had been exhilarating. He didn’t know which he looked forward to more—satisfying his sexual needs with the fourth victim or playing head games with Genny. Of course he couldn’t tap into her mind; he didn’t possess that ability. He’d have to wait for her to initiate the next contact, just as she’d done this morning. But once they were linked, he thought he’d be able to communicate with her without any problems.

  He smiled as delicious images of success filled his mind. He was so close to achieving all that he desired.

  Only one more sacrifice to build his strength before he claimed his prize. He had been waiting a lifetime for her. All the other transfers had been only partly successful because the women he’d chosen had been too weak, too powerless. But this time, he had found the perfect woman. This fifth victim would give him everything he had longed for all his life. Strength. Power. Perfection.

  When Linc Hughes held out his mug, Teri Nash refilled it with coffee. Regular, high-octane java. They had spent the past four nights at BSU headquarters in Quantico pooling their efforts. Both had other cases they were working during the day, but they were determined to help Dallas and Sheriff Butler. With only ten full-time profilers working with the Behavioral Science Unit, each of those agents often worked on fifty cases at once.

  Linc, the most experienced profiler, had already given the Mobile murderer and the Cherokee Pointe murderer an “organized offender” status based on the organized and disorganized dichotomy involved in five basic aspects of the interaction between the victims and the offender: interpersonal coherence, significance of time and place, criminal characteristics, criminal career, and forensic awareness. A man who fell into this category would in all likelihood be fairly intelligent, possibly highly intelligent. He’d be socially and sexually competent and skilled at whatever work he chose, but would often change jobs or leave town after one or more of the murders. More than likely he would be mobile, with a vehicle in good condition. And this type liked to follow his crimes in the news media.

  “You know Dallas will be in your debt the rest of his life,” Teri said as she leaned over to kiss Linc on the forehead.

  “The initial report is ready for you to send him. It’s incomplete, but it’ll give Dallas and the sheriff something to work with.” Linc checked his watch. “It’s nearly four o’clock. I’ll fax it to the sheriff’s office, and you can call Dallas whenever you think he’ll be up.”

  “I’ll give him until five-thirty,” Teri replied. “If I know him, he’s not getting much sleep these days.” She yawned. “Speaking of sleep. Maybe we should try to catch a few zees.”

  Linc glanced at the file folders spread out across the desk in his office. “How’s your research into the victims coming along?”

  “I don’t have all the data I need, but so far I’ve come up with a big fat zero.”

  “It doesn’t make sense that none of the victims have anything in common, other than all five in each series of murders lived and died in their home area.”

  “The ages range from teens to forties. Different races. Different physical descriptions. Various backgrounds and occupations. It’s as if this guy simply chooses his victims at random.”

  “Possible,” Linc said. “But my instincts and my training tell me that there is some significance to the fact that in each case there are exactly five murders, all occurring around daybreak, all sacrificed in the same manner.”

  “And he drinks blood from the first four.”

  “But he cuts the heart out of each fifth victim.”

  “And eats it?” Teri asked. “Isn’t that what you and Dallas surmised?”

  Linc nodded. “Yeah, so maybe the first four victims are chosen at random simply because they’re easily accessible. But there’s something special about the fifth victim. If we can discover what that special thing is, then I’ll bet we’ll find a connection that links each of the fifth victims.”

  “Makes sense,” Teri said. “So, what I need to do is gather all the info I can on each of the fifth victims.”

  “I think that may prove to be our missing link.”

  Teri poured herself another cup of coffee, then sat down in front of Linc’s computer and quickly zipped through the basic information on victims number 5.

  “Four women, all the fifth victim. Hmmm.” Teri bit down on the side of her lower lip and clicked her tongue as she scanned the information. “Our first number five was Kim Johnson, twenty-seven, a TV reporter from Texas. Next was Daphne Alaire, thirty-eight, a novelties and bookshop owner who lived in Louisiana. The third number five, Lori Wright, was from Hilton Head, South Carolina. She was a twenty-year-old college student home for spring break when she was murdered.”

  “I’m not picking up on any similarities.”

  “That’s because there aren’t any.” Teri shook her head and clicked her tongue again. “The fifth victim in the Mobile murders was a housewife, Barbara James, thirty, with two kids, who did volunteer work with troubled children.”

  “What’s the marital status on those four women?”

  Teri skimmed the info in the computer files. “James was married, Wright was single, Alaire widowed, and Johnson divorced.”

  “Physic
al descriptions?”

  Scrolling through each woman’s file, Teri made a mental note of each description. “One blonde, one redhead, two brunettes. One fat, one skinny, two average. One short, one tall, two average height.” She spun the swivel chair around and confronted Linc. “And before you ask—one black, three white.”

  Linc shrugged. “You’ll have to dig deeper. Check into things like religion, clubs and organizations they belonged to, hobbies, things like that.”

  “You do know how long that could take.”

  “We’re narrowing the search from twenty women to four. If there is a link, a common thread—and I’m sure there is—it will be among those fifth victims.”

  “Then what you’re saying is that if we can hurry up and find that common denominator, we still probably won’t be able to save the fourth victim, but we might be able to figure out who the fifth victim is going to be and hopefully save her.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Brooke was the fourth victim in Mobile,” Teri said. “I know Dallas would like to save number four in Cherokee County.”

  “That might not be possible. He may have to settle for saving the fifth victim.”

  Chapter 19

  Tension was running high in Cherokee County and the fact that the local media was enjoying a feeding frenzy at Sheriff Butler’s and Chief Watson’s expense only added to the problem. Dallas had seen this happen before—a town panicking when it began to question the competency of its local lawmen. The Cherokee Pointe Herald and WMMK TV and radio stations, owned by the MacKinnon family, continued giving a one-sided view of events, thanks to the animosity between Jacob and Brian MacKinnon. But unbeknownst to the media, during the past week, some progress was being made in solving the sacrificial murder cases. With a task force in place, and the FBI officially, as well as unofficially, working in conjunction with local and state law enforcement, they now had a streamlined suspects list that might lead them to the killer.

  Neither Matt Newton, the reporter Jacob had coldcocked, nor MacKinnon Media had instigated a lawsuit against Jacob or filed assault charges against him. Dallas figured Newton would do whatever the MacKinnons told him to do, and Brian MacKinnon was enjoying making Jacob wait. Dallas believed MacKinnon was the type who derived pleasure from toying with a man he thought he held any kind of power over.

  The majority of public opinion still remained on Jacob’s side, despite the media blitz against the local lawman. People tended to like and trust Jacob Butler whereas most intensely disliked and distrusted Brian MacKinnon. What Dallas couldn’t figure out was why MacKinnon would deliberately attack Jacob if MacKinnon really was in love with Genny.

  Dallas lifted his legs and placed his feet atop the edge of Jacob’s desk, then reared back and gripped his hands together behind his head. He hadn’t slept well since arriving in Cherokee County. Too much happening too fast to waste time getting eight hours every night. Hell, he’d settle for five good hours. But once the killer was caught, he could rest.

  The initial profile that Linc Hughes had faxed them six days ago had reinforced Dallas’s conviction that one of their original four suspects was the serial killer who had murdered Brooke and the three Cherokee County women. Even though they had no other evidence against any of the men, they also had no other suspects.

  Only yesterday Teri had called Dallas to report her findings from the five murders in Hilton Head, which had taken place eighteen months prior to the Mobile murders. Her findings had narrowed the suspects down to three—that is, if they were on the right track. If they were barking up the wrong tree, then heaven help them, because only a higher power could save the final two victims.

  “Dillon Carson was working with a dinner theater in Savannah at the time of the five murders,” Teri had said. “That’s a forty-five-minute drive to Hilton Head.”

  Royce Pierpont had been employed at an antique shop in Charleston, an hour and a half drive from Hilton Head. And Jamie Upton had spent that spring with friends at Hilton Head, playing golf, fishing, kayaking, and getting picked up twice for being drunk and disorderly. The Reverend and Mrs. Stowe had been living in Whiteville, North Carolina, during the time of the Hilton Head murders. With the distance between the two cities, it was highly unlikely that Haden Stowe had been the perpetrator in those five killings. Unlikely, but not out of the realm of possibility. With time running out, Jacob and Dallas had agreed to concentrate on Carson, Pierpont, and Upton, the three most likely suspects. Each man fit the profile Linc had compiled.

  Carson and Pierpont had cooperated fully when Jacob asked them to come in for questioning, but neither had alibis for the time of the first two Cherokee County murders, only for the third. They had both joined in Jerry Lee Todd’s manhunt that morning, and dozens of other men could swear to their whereabouts. But Dallas knew, considering the mob mentality of the mayor’s vigilantes that morning, no one could be one hundred percent certain when any one particular member had joined the group.

  Carson had claimed he couldn’t remember exactly where he was living at the time of the Louisiana and Texas murders, but did know he’d never lived or worked in Texas. But yes, he had lived in the border state of Oklahoma and had vacationed in neighboring New Mexico. He just couldn’t remember when. Nor could he remember when he’d last been in Louisiana. Pierpont said he’d never even been to Texas, but he had worked in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, which was within easy driving distance of Lafayette, where the second set of murders had occurred. However, he wasn’t sure about the exact dates. A few years back? Yes. At least four? Yes, at least four. Pierpont had seemed quite calm and controlled, answering without hesitation. Dillon’s replies were often vague, but he seemed more aggravated about wasting his time than having to answer questions.

  Both men had refused to give DNA samples. But even an innocent man might object to that request.

  Jamie Upton had been another matter altogether. He had refused to answer any questions without his lawyer present. And his grandfather’s local attorney advised him that he didn’t have to answer any questions unless he was being charged with a crime.

  “Charge Jamie with something or let him go,” Tyson Baines had demanded, with a smirking smile that accentuated his fat jowls.

  Did Jamie have something to hide or was Big Jim Upton simply throwing his weight around? Possibly both. Only this morning, Jacob had told Dallas he’d heard that the old man had put the infamous trial lawyer from Texas, Quinn Cortez, on retainer. Did that mean Jamie’s grandfather suspected he might be a killer?

  Dallas spent most of his waking hours at the Sheriff’s Department, which had become command central for the task force. But he had managed to slip away for a while to drive up the mountain on the days that Genny couldn’t make it into town. Knowing Jacob would agree with him and nix her plan, he’d told Jacob about Genny’s idea of trying to telepathically connect with the killer’s mind. Jacob had gone ballistic; and only then had Dallas understood the true danger to Genny if she tried such a feat.

  “We can’t allow her to even try,” Jacob had said. “If she were to go in too far, we might not be able to get her back.”

  Fortunately, Genny hadn’t mentioned it again, not once in the past six days. The way Dallas felt about Genny, he found it difficult to believe he’d known her only a little over a week. This was the first time in his life that a woman had become so important to him. He wasn’t calling it love. Love was just a word. An overused word. He wanted Genny. Wanted her desperately. But there was something more to his feelings, something he couldn’t quite define. And it was that other element that worried him.

  A booted foot kicked Dallas’s legs where he had them propped up on the desk. He eased his feet onto the floor and glanced up at Jacob.

  “Daydreaming?” Jacob asked.

  “Not exactly. Why?”

  “You didn’t hear what I said, did you?”

  “Was it something important?”

  Jacob grunted. “I wish there was a legal way for
us to get hold of Jamie Upton’s DNA.”

  “What brought this on?”

  “I just talked to Jazzy. She’s thinking about taking out a restraining order on Jamie. Her new bouncer over at Jazzy’s Joint has had to get rid of Jamie twice this week. His actions are coming pretty damn close to being harassment, but if she tries to bring him up on charges, he’ll walk and she knows it.”

  “You think Upton is our killer?”

  “I think it’s highly possible.”

  Dallas shook his head. “I disagree.”

  “So, G-man,” Jacob said jokingly, “who do you think it is?”

  “Carson or Pierpont.”

  “Carson is a jerk and Pierpont is a wimp, but being either of those things isn’t a crime.”

  “Upton is too obvious. He’s an in-your-face type, not caring how much attention he draws to himself.”

  “Jamie is an amoral bastard who’s never thought of anyone other than himself. Our killer has no conscience. That trait fits Jamie to a tee.”

  “I’m not ruling him out,” Dallas said. “Just going by gut instinct and experience.”

  “In my experience if it quacks like duck, waddles like a duck, and looks like a duck, it’s a duck.”

  Dallas grinned, but before he could counter with a witty response, Tim Willingham knocked on the office door and stuck his head in.

  “There’s a call on line two I think you’ll want to take,” Tim said.

  “Who is it?” Jacob asked.

  “Dr. MacNair. He says his wife is missing.”

  Genny opened the door to Brian MacKinnon and invited him in, maintaining a polite if somewhat cool expression. She was glad Drudwyn was off in the woods right now; otherwise her dog would pick up on the hostility she felt. And although she could control Drudwyn, she wasn’t sure she could stop herself from letting him frighten Brian just a little.

  When she’d first heard Brian’s car in the driveway, she’d thought Dallas and Jacob had arrived. She was expecting them for supper tonight. She planned to approach them once again about her idea to try a telepathic link to the killer’s mind.