by Jaden Wilkes
Her brows tilted down as she examined it. Turning the paper sideways and then upside down, she righted it before looking up. “I’m not familiar with the area. It’s a new dump sight. What am I looking for?”
“You’re looking for a break in pattern.”
Her eyes reviewed the map again. I could see the idea hitting her expression at the exact moment she figured it out.
“He dumped them close to each other and close to a trail. It’s as if he wanted them found quickly. Considering the care he gives them following their death, do you think that he wants them to be found sooner rather than later?”
I didn’t know the answer to her question and it bothered me. “Are you suggesting that he no longer wants them to decompose?”
She nodded. I disagreed immediately.
“No. He’s been too careful up to this point. Killers either keep their victims to themselves or they display them in such a way that it sends a message or reveals some personal trauma in their life. It’s one way or the other, never both. For years, CK has been attempting to keep the bodies to himself. It’s only been by chance that they were located. There’s no reason that he would suddenly switch.”
“Unless he doesn’t need to keep them anymore.”
Her expression was smug when I looked up. Giving me the sweet smile that always foreshadows some bit of brilliance on her part, she theorized, “Think about it, Donovan. He’s escalating, which leads us to believe that some trigger has occurred in his life. Not only has he had a heightened need for release, but he’s broken his pattern in such a way that if he’s the type to revisit bodies or wishes to possess these women, he’s not given time to do so.”
Nodding, I surmised, “We should visit the neighborhood where the victims were known to work. Maybe somebody saw something. A car color or brand. Anything that could give us more information about him other than what’s been done to his victims.”
“I agree.” Realizing that we still hadn’t received our order, Emily raised her hand up in the air to signal our waitress. The short, stocky woman ran up with wiry hair flying in all directions around her head. Dropping two cups of coffee on the table, she said, “I’m so sorry it’s taking this long for your orders. We’re short on staff because a waitress failed to show about three days ago.”
Shrugging, she continued as if we were actually interested in what she had to say. “We’re hiring to replace her if you know somebody.”
“No ma’am. We’re from out of town, so we wouldn’t know anybody. We are, however, in somewhat of a hurry, so I don’t know if there’s a way you can push our order to the front of the line. If so, we would really appreciate it.” Emily answered as cordially as possible.
“Oh sure. Let me go take care of that for you.”
The little woman bounced off in the opposite direction while Emily and I shared a mutual look of annoyance.
***
“This area will be difficult to canvass. With this type of poverty, we’re going to be dealing with people who know better than to run their mouths or who have had previous problems with the law.”
My eyes took in the dilapidated buildings and weed covered walkways. Emily remained quiet and contemplative as she looked over the streets and the vehicles parked alongside them.
Gritting my teeth, I cursed the fact that whoever we were hunting obviously knew what he was doing. I wasn’t surprised, though. The coldest of psychopaths were always the most difficult to find.
“When is the rest of the team meeting us? I think Agent Reynolds would be a good person to conduct the canvass. He appears easy going and trustworthy. He puts people at ease. They might talk to him. We should dress him in plain clothes and see what he can come up with.” Emily mused while still watching out the car window.
Turning a corner, I noticed a commotion surrounding a particularly drab building. A crowd had gathered in the street and I saw the flash of yellow police tape surrounding the miniscule lawn outside the front door.
“What do you think the likelihood is of two killers being in the same area in the course of a week?” I asked.
Emily turned her attention to the scene. “Why are you so sure someone has been killed in there?” Shrugging off her rhetorical question, she added, “In an area such as this? Who knows? Let’s check it out. Maybe a local officer can give us more information.”
We approached the scene and were immediately met by an attractive black woman wearing the typical police uniform. Her hair was pulled back in a drastic knot at the back of her head. “Sorry folks, but this is a crime scene and you’ll have to remain back.”
Emily and I both pulled our wallets from our pockets, flashing our badges and identifying ourselves as FBI agents. The woman didn’t appear impressed.
I allowed Emily to do the talking because I wasn’t feeling very polite at that moment.
“Officer, my name is Emily Chase, I’m a behavioral analyst with the FBI and Agent Blake and I are currently investigating the apparent serial killer you have in the area.”
Thin brows shot up over the officer’s brown eyes.
“Oh, you’re here about the Cascades Killer? Yeah, I was on scene for some of those cases before they were determined to be related. I haven’t seen anything in this scene that looks similar. Whoever killed the man in that building wasn’t clean or organized. He didn’t hide the body either. Only reason we found the victim is because people were complaining about the smell.”
“Thank you for that information, but would you mind if we have a look for ourselves?”
The officer shrugged, dropping her amateur analysis to lift the tape. Ducking under, Emily thanked the woman, who then followed behind us as we entered.
I could see why people had been complaining of the smell. It was a particularly pungent odor, like rotting food or meat that has sat in the sun for far too long. The smell of death, once encountered, could never be forgotten. It wasn’t something a person would ever get used to either. At least, not in the thickness of it that still flooded this house.
Emily grimaced, but like the professional she was, donned her normal expression, surveying the scene as carefully as I.
“Good god. Whoever did this was angry.” Thinking out loud, Emily’s eyes took in the blood splatter on the walls and ceiling of the front room.
The body of the victim was hunched over the filthy couch, his flesh only a light blue at the face and arms from livor mortis. The lack of additional hypostasis on the skin was probably due to his blood having been splashed around the room and spilled out onto the couch. As far as I could tell, he’d most likely been there for a few days, but the body would need to be moved to make a more accurate determination of timing.
Besides the notable signs and symptoms that death had occurred in this space, there were also indications that a struggle had taken place beforehand. I pursed my lips realizing that the chances that this was caused by our perpetrator were slim to none.
Emily and I remained silent as we walked the small space. Blood and other potential evidence was identified everywhere by small markers set out by the crime scene technicians. Entering the bathroom, we found more blood, both on the floor and mixed within the stale and stagnant water still filling the bath.
On the floor was a familiar uniform and I recognized it immediately as having belonged to the diner where we’d just eaten breakfast. Beside the uniform were a fifty and ten dollar bill. Water had been splashed everywhere leaving small stains where it gathered on the floor and eventually evaporated.
“Did you notice the uniform?” Emily asked.
“Yeah.” Stepping closer, I was careful not to disturb the scene when I knelt down to inspect the clothing closer. “There’s no name tag, but I’m not sure if that’s unusual.” Looking up at her, I asked, “Do you remember the waitress from this morning wearing one?”
Shaking her head, she answered, “No. There was no identification at all on her clothes.”
“Hmmm.” My knees popped when I stood up. �
��I think we may have solved the case of the missing waitress.”
Turning to the police officer who was still watching us closely on her scene, I asked, “Do we know who all of this blood belongs to or where the woman is that was obviously here.”
She stepped up beside me, looking over the money, blood and clothing littering the floor. “No we don’t. My men have already been to the neighbors’ houses asking questions, but all we learned was that the couple that lives here screams and yells a lot. One person told us that the woman’s name is Ronnie and she would always have bruises somewhere on her body. From the looks of the scene and from what we gathered from neighbors so far, I tend to think this was a case of domestic abuse gone horribly wrong. She may have killed him in self-defense and fled afraid that she’d be arrested for murder.”
“Do we have more than her first name?” Even though I agreed with the officer’s analysis, I was still curious as to the participants.
“No. We’re recording the scene now and once the medical examiner arrives to examine and remove the body, we’ll be searching drawers and closets for identification. We know she lived here, but her name is not listed on the lease.”
Pulling my card from my pocket, I handed it to her. “Could you do me a favor and call me when you obtain a name?”
Taking it from me she argued, “I don’t think this has anything to do with the Cascades…”
Cutting her off, I said, “I agree. However, I’m still interested in a name if you can give it to me.”
Shrugging, she shoved the card in her pocket. “Fine. I’ll let you know when I know.”
“Thank you.”
I was done. There was nothing more here that would help me in my hunt for a madman. Frustration shot through me at his continued ability to elude us. Walking back out into the dreary weather that seemed to swallow this town, I lifted the tape for Emily to duck under and walked her back to my car.
Climbing in, we both secured our seatbelts when she turned to me. “Where to now, boss?”
My cock twitched at her tone of voice.
“Let’s go visit the disposal scene. Maybe by breaking the pattern, he fucked up in other ways that have also gone unnoticed.”
Chapter Eleven
Ronnie
He left me in the room by myself a lot during the first few nights I stayed here. While resting, I imagined things about him: his striking looks, the aristocratic tone of his voice, and an intellect that was so well developed you could see it just by looking in his eyes.
He was shrewd, that much was obvious – but at the same time, he was soft. Sometimes, in the early morning, he would sneak into the room and crawl in bed with me. I knew it was wrong for me to feel this way about a man who was practically a stranger, but was he really? I’d seen him enough times in the diner to know that I was attracted to him. I’d fantasized about him as if he were the prince who would swoop in and rescue me from my life.
Normally when he crawled into bed with me, it smelled like he’d just showered and I wondered why he chose to do so at such an add hour. I didn’t mind. The musky scent of his aftershave was enough to make me wish I were well enough to crawl over him, to show him just how thankful I was for being saved.
But even that dream was struck down cruelly when I remembered that Billy was still out there, hunting me down and waiting for the chance to finish what he’d started.
I knew if I left this place, if Billy was somehow able to find me, he wouldn’t stop until I was dead.
In the past, I hadn’t particularly hated the thought of being released from this life, but now? Now I thought I’d found hope in the person who’d not only rescued me, but who was now tending to me and helping me heal.
“Good morning, Pet. Are you hungry?”
He entered the room after unlocking the door. I wasn’t sure what to think about the locks, his rules or the fact that he referred to me in such an odd way. Shaking it off, I realized I was being ridiculous for allowing myself to be concerned about something as insignificant as a name. It was no different than any other term of endearment. Rather than being suspicious, I should feel grateful that he uses such a name. It shows he cares.
“I’m starving actually. Would you like me to cook something?”
“No.” His response was so immediate it caused me to jump. He smiled, reaching the bed and sitting down on the side. “I want you to rest and heal. That’s the reason for all of this, correct?”
I nodded in agreement. “Yes. Of course. I’m sorry.”
Hooking his finger beneath my chin, he pulled my face up softly. “Don’t be sorry.”
Like a petulant child, I complained about his absence. “Where were you last night? I know it’s stupid, but I like it when you lay next to me. It makes me feel safe.”
He looked at me for a few minutes, several different emotions drifting through his gaze before he finally responded, “Don’t ask questions of me, Pet. That’s not allowed. And you’re never safe.”
I was struck by his odd words. My thoughts immediately jumped to my past. “Has Billy figured out where I am?” Gasping, I covered my mouth with my hand before adding, “Does he know it was you? Oh God, Jude. What if he…”
“Shhhhhh.” His finger was over my mouth to silence me. “Billy hasn’t found anything. Not me or you. I was at your restaurant last night checking to see if he’s been looking for you.”
“Oh, Jude. That’s dangerous!”
His thumb and finger gripped my chin – hard. “Stop. Don’t waste your time worrying about me. I can take care of myself.”
Tears slipped free of my eyes and he released my chin, finally realizing that he’d caused me pain. Something I didn’t recognize filtered through his gaze, but it was gone as soon as I saw it.
“I have to go to work.” Brushing me off, he stood up from the bed, distancing himself from me immediately. “My mother has left some food in the kitchen. I’ll grab you an assortment of pastries and sandwiches. You’ll find that I refilled your mini-fridge last night while you slept. That should take care of you until I return. Perhaps tonight we can cook together. What do you say?”
I nodded my head, not liking his sudden switch in personality. He went from someone who was personal and kind to someone cold and businesslike. Had I upset him?
He returned the curt nod and was out the door before I could ask him that question.
***
The lock to the door clicked again and his entrance meant that night had fallen. How long would I get to keep him to myself this time?
It was odd. Despite the way my body hurt, I wanted him to touch me, to show me in some way that I was more to him that a pathetic woman he had to protect. I was strong, in my own ways, but I wasn’t sure how to tell him.
“Did you have a nice day?”
Brushing stray hairs away from my face, I smiled up at him as sweetly as I could, despite the angry purple bruises that still marred my face. “Yes.” I laughed, hating to admit what I’d done all day. “There was a classic movie marathon on television. I watched Gone with the Wind and Casablanca.” I could feel my cheeks heating to say, “In fact, you kind of remind me of Rhett Butler.”
His expression was strange after I said that. I opened my mouth to explain, but he laughed before I had the chance to speak.
“Would you like me to throw you over my shoulder and drag you upstairs? Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.” He mimicked, jokingly.
My embarrassment ratcheted. “I – I didn’t mean it like that…”
Sitting on the bed, he brushed the backs of his fingers across my cheek. “I can’t wait to see that blush on your skin when it isn’t made ugly by the bruises.”
My heart fell. I was humiliated by the injuries. “I wish you never had to see me like this.”
“I’ve seen them before. Many times. You never hid them well in the restaurant, regardless of your attempts.”
He sounded like he was reprimanding me. I didn’t know if he’d intended to hurt me wi
th his words, but that had been the effect. For a person who could show so much warmth, it was lost when his persona reverted back to the cold, bitter character of the businessman that he was.
“You ready to cook dinner? I purchased steak. I hope that’s to your liking.”
Cold blue eyes stared down at me and I couldn’t speak past the lump in my throat. Nodding in response, I pushed up from where I sat slumped against the pillows and followed him into the kitchen.
“Take a seat at the bar. Would you mind putting together a salad?”
“I’d love to.” Giving him a fake smile, I separated the vegetables out that he placed in front of me and began chopping them with the knife he’d left on the counter.
He hovered over another cutting board that was built into the cement counter on the opposite side of the bar. I wasn’t sure why, but when he was busy fileting the meat into halves; I was paying more attention to his actions over mine. Mindlessly, I continued chopping, but something about the way he handled the knife impressed me. His movements were quick and fluid, like a surgeon or master chef. The knife I was using came down heavy over the cucumber I was slicing and hot pain seared my finger.
“Oh shit!” Looking down, I realized I’d cut the tip. Blood poured from the wound, hot and thick. Jude froze where he stood. Glancing up, I caught his gaze. His eyes were a mixture of heat and anger.
He sprung into action, coming around the counter to grab my hand and pull me from my chair. “Hold your hand above your head to keep it from bleeding.” He was angry and sharp words were spit from his lips. “How could you be so stupid?”
Tears burst from my eyes and I reverted back to the abused girl I was with Billy, immediately apologizing and attempting to pull away for fear he would hit me.
His grip was strong and he dragged me along the kitchen floor, turning on the cold-water faucet and shoving my hand beneath the cold spray. He didn’t look away from the blood that dripped into the sink, watching as it turned from red to pink as the water diluted it.
“Keep your hand there. I’ll go grab some medical supplies. Don’t move.” Barking out his instructions, he didn’t bother to look at me.
