Mitch finally arrived and walked up to her with a coffee in hand, just like he did every other morning.
“Glad you could join us!” Hernandez called out from his desk. “Big night, huh?”
Mitch ignored him, handed Salvi the coffee. She took it, offering a quiet “Thank you,” then he moved to sit at his desk like he did any other day. He was acting normal, giving nothing away about their previous night, about their fight this morning. She was grateful for that. Although she found it a little uncomfortable trying to work while he sat opposite in her line of vision. The smell of the soap from her shower wafted over to her.
A message came through from Riverton. She opened it and saw that it was a profile on the vics’ online activity from the cyber department.
“You seen the cyber report?” Mitch asked, not taking his eyes off the screen.
“Just reading it now.”
“Vic one and two had high level accounts with U-Stasis,” he said. “That meant they were regulars.”
“Rebecca Carson too?” Salvi paused a moment, dropping her eyes to the section of the report outlining that.
“Looks like she used a blind dating room.” Mitch turned his face to look at her. “Carly Fresner’s not on there, though. So, our perp may not have met them in U-Stasis.” He tapped his fingers on the desk, thinking, then stood up. “I’m going to pay cyber a visit, see what other names they can dig up.”
With that he took his coffee and left. And all the while, Salvi noticed, Hernandez watched him like a hawk.
Salvi racked her brain trying to find a connection between all three women. From what she could tell, Sharon Gleamer and Rebecca Carson had two links: they both attended the same church, and they both had accounts on U-Stasis. But Carly Fresner, the prostitute, according to the cyber report, didn’t have a U-Stasis account. But why would she? She was in the business of providing actual physical contact.
So why would the perp suddenly switch type? Was he trying to throw them? Was it even the first two victims’ killer? Could it have been a copycat? Or was Holt right, had Fresner just been the easiest target as everyone else was staying off the streets at night? But then again, how would Holt know that? Because he’d been out on the street doing patrols that night. He’d know better than anyone else.
And he had been a previous client of hers. Was he erasing evidence?
Still, each attack had been slightly different. Sharon’s had been a more drawn-out affair, then she’d been strangled. Rebecca Carson’s had been a hit and run. She’d been raped and her neck broken, all in a flash attack. Carly Fresner had her skull smashed in. The only single link between all three cases had been the word “pure” carved into their bodies. And maybe the smears of BioLume.
Salvi quickly checked her messages to see if anything was in yet from Kim Weston, but there wasn’t.
The thought of those BioLume footprints stuck in her mind. She finished her coffee, then she pulled up the files for the Subjugates again. Something about the BioLume niggled at her. She began flipping through the files, focusing on the three Subjugates that most intrigued her: Lucius Dolles, Fontan Pragge and Edward Moses. Then of course, there was Serene-41. But she didn’t have access to his file. She’d never finished her discussion with him the other day, about his visits to town, and his escort of Moses. Serene-41 was half the size of Moses. So how was placid little Serene-41 supposed to keep the Subjugate in check?
One by one she pulled up their prior records again. Fontan Pragge, was of course, a serial rapist who didn’t have a type. His previous MO fit the bill, mostly, but with that brain damage did he have the capacity, or perhaps even the desire, to commit these murders – and be smart enough to cover his tracks afterwards? Lucius Dolles, the college rapist, could. But he never killed his victims. And even then, his physical violence was kept to a minimum. He didn’t beat them, he just held them down and raped them. Edward Moses did both. He raped them, then killed them. And he’d been a lawyer. He was smart enough to cover his tracks and think of all the angles. She’d read the details of each of the attacks committed by Moses, and they had involved a mixture of circumstances. He didn’t seem to have a type either or a preferred method of killing. For the seven counts of murder he’d been found guilty of, three had been strangulations, two had died from head injuries from a beating, one had a broken neck, and one had had her throat slit. Moses liked to change things up depending on his mood.
She sighed and closed the files. She couldn’t deny that of all the Subjugates, Moses most fit the bill. He had similar priors, he had been allowed in the town and undertook work in the BioLume factory. But something still niggled at Salvi. How did he get away from his Serene escort? The guards were supposed to keep an eye on them too. With their brain tweaking and chemical injections, how could a Subjugate work up enough fury to have done what he did to the three vics? How could the treatment work on all the others, but not on him?
She needed the new warrants for their DNA, now. She stood and moved to Ford’s office, but saw it was empty. Her iPort signaled an incoming call. It was her security company. She’d programmed in the number after they’d called her last time.
“Detective Brentt,” she answered.
“Ms Brentt, Solid State Security here. Your alarm has sounded again, albeit only briefly before it was shut off. We just wanted to check whether that was you?”
“When did it sound?” she asked.
“Just now.”
Salvi looked across the bullpen at Mitch’s empty desk. Maybe he didn’t close the door properly this morning. She checked her iPort. He’d been gone a while. “It’s OK,” she said. “I’ll go check it out.”
“Would you like someone to meet you there?”
“No, it’s fine,” she said, moving back to her desk, opening the drawer and holstering her gun. “I got it.”
She ended the call, logged out of her console, and headed out the door.
Salvi swiped her pass over the console and heard the door to her apartment unlock, which meant that it was previously locked. Perhaps it was just time for a service on her alarm sensors? Still, as the door opened, she kept her hand on her gun just in case. The door slid back and she surveyed her apartment. Everything looked just as she’d left it.
She stepped inside and closed the door behind her, listening as it made the musical chime. She sighed and moved over to the kitchen, poured herself a glass of filtered water and swallowed some more painkillers. The water was just what she needed, although part of her still pined for a shot of Mitch’s ReVitalize.
As she stood there downing the water, she thought she heard something. A voice, a moan, coming from her bedroom. She put the glass down quietly, pulled her gun out and moved silently toward her bedroom. As she approached, she heard the sound again. There were two voices. Moans, panting.
She stepped through into her bedroom, gun firmly in front, swinging back and forth. The bedroom was empty, just like she’d left it that morning; the bed all messy, last night’s clothes on the floor. She moved up to her bathroom and swiftly turned inside, gun swinging back and forth across the empty room.
Then she heard it again and looked back into her bedroom.
The TV was on.
Her brow furrowed. Did Mitch turn it on after she left and forget to turn it off?
She moved over to the console on her headboard and went to turn it off but paused at what she saw. At first she’d thought it was just some movie playing, but now as she looked at it properly, she realized what it was.
It was her.
The movie was her.
Her and Mitch. From last night.
She stepped toward the screen slowly, as a shaking began to overtake her body. She watched, frozen, unable to get her brain to understand what was happening. She watched herself straddling Mitch, riding him, as he squeezed her breasts in his hands. She glanced back at the empty bed, then looked back at the screen to see Mitch reverse their positions, lying on top of her, her legs curling around him.
She saw him grab her hand and thread his fingers through hers, pressing it back into the sheets, as he kissed her. Saw him thrusting into her, saw herself moan and pant, as she thrust her tongue into his mouth.
Her whole body was rattling now, the gun visibly shaking in her hand. She turned around, a full 360 degrees, not knowing what to do. She looked back at the screen, saw herself come, saw Mitch follow. Her eyes shot back to the bed, then looked back at the screen again and realized the angle it had been filmed from. Her eyes moved to the air vent on the wall above the TV. She swiftly moved over and climbed onto the cabinet that sat below the TV, boosting her height. She clawed at the air vent, smacking it with her gun to get it loose; she pulled it off and there it was. A small camera and microphone. A red light indicated the camera was on. Whoever did this was watching her. Recording her.
It made her recall Swaggert flashing the red light in her face at the first crime scene. She snatched the camera, ripping it out of its hold, and threw it to the floor. She jumped back down from the cabinet and picked it up again, raced into her bathroom and smashed it against the tiled floor of the shower, again and again. She turned the taps on and flooded the remains with hot water. Catching her breath, she leaned back against the wall, eyes wide, body still shaking.
Who the hell would do this?
Who had access to do this?
She instantly thought of Mitch but struggled to contemplate it. If he was the killer, wouldn’t he have just killed her last night? He was going to leave and she made him stay. He hadn’t forced her. He hadn’t done anything to her that she hadn’t wanted done.
A tear rolled down her cheek as she stepped out into her bedroom again. Her eyes fell back to the screen; the footage still played. It was on repeat. She saw herself walking into her bedroom with Mitch removing their clothes.
She briefly lost her legs and fell to the floor, gasping for breath. She pictured Faith in her mind. This was what it must’ve been like for her. To have had someone invade her privacy like that. To record a personal moment meant only for the two people involved.
No one else knew about Faith. Only Mitch.
But she’d only told him that night? Or had he somehow found out? When he’d been looking into her?
She stood again, moved over to her bed and slumped down on the side of it. Still catching her breath, she looked around the room trying to make sense of things. Her eyes caught on something red, sticking out from underneath her white sheets. She stood and pulled the covers back a little. She gasped and ripped the top sheet right off her bed and onto the floor. There, written in red across her bed was the word “pure”.
Her iPort began ringing then, scaring her. She looked at the caller. It was Mitch. The blood drained from her. She tore at the iPort’s clasp, ripped it off and threw it on the bed, just staring at it. Then she lunged forward and thrust it beneath her pillow and clawed at her eyes and ears, pulling her lenses and ear piece out too, and tore the badge off her shirt.
Could he have done this?
No, it couldn’t be Mitch. If he had wanted to torture her with memories of Faith, he wouldn’t have had time to set this up. The cameras. He hadn’t left her side once she’d told him.
Her brain started working overtime and a thought struck her like an axe to the spine. She suddenly raced out into her living room and began pulling at all the air vents. She groaned a cry as she found another camera in the living room, facing her couch. She moved onto the next and the next, working her way through the whole apartment. In the end she found three cameras: one in her bedroom, one in her bathroom and one in her living room. How long had someone been watching her?
She thought back to the first alarm call she’d had from the security company.
She suddenly recalled Mitch’s concern about someone watching them. That someone had followed him to the prostitute that night. That someone was sending him a message. Just like she had now been sent a message. Someone was taunting them. Someone was having fun taunting them.
But was it someone else? Or had Mitch just planted a seed in her mind?
Her skin crawled at the thought of staying in her apartment any longer. She had to get out of there.
And she had to stay away from Mitch until she figured out who it was.
Salvi didn’t know what else to do, but she got into her Zenith and headed for Bountiful. Before leaving, she’d checked in with the auto-concierge and asked to review the security footage. No one was seen entering her apartment. Only her and Mitch. But someone had written “pure” across her bed …
He was the only one that could’ve done it. So why couldn’t she believe it was him?
She needed to find the killer fast, and Bountiful was the best place to look. At least that was what her gut was telling her. She wanted desperately to prove that it wasn’t Mitch. That it couldn’t possibly be Mitch. That she wasn’t a fool who had just slept with the Bountiful Killer.
She drove around the streets, past the houses of his victims and into the center of town. She found herself out front of the Children of Christ complex, staring up at the large green cross atop the church. She thought of the BioLume pulsing within its confines. She got out of her car and moved toward it. This time her magnet wasn’t trying to repel her, but instead drawing her toward it. Pulling her with determination to find the killer.
The church was empty, and she stepped inside the quiet. Nothing but her and the BioLume lights along the altar. She walked toward the altar, hands in the pockets of her jacket, eyes fixed to the large Jesus Christ nailed to his cross against the wall beyond. Everything, including herself, awash with the green glow.
She didn’t know what to say, what to think. She still harbored so much anger for the religion, for the way it held human freedoms prisoner. She thought of her parents, of their extremism. She thought of Faith and of the footage that had driven her sister to suicide.
Then she thought of the footage she had just seen in her apartment. Saw herself letting go. Saw herself finding solace in another.
And she thought of someone taking that moment and soiling it. Taking her freedom. Taking her right to live her life as she wanted in private and using it for their enjoyment.
Someone trying to control her with fear.
Someone who was angry she wasn’t pure.
“The lost souls always find their way back.” A voice startled her from behind.
She spun around to see Preacher Vowker standing there, a soft smile upon his face. She stared at him, defiant, her eyes shining with angry tears.
“You looked troubled,” he said gently.
She couldn’t speak, her whole body was clenched, trying to hold the anger inside, to keep it at bay. This man, who raised so many unpleasant memories within her.
“What troubles you, Detective?” he said. “Let me help you.”
Salvi looked back around at the Jesus on the crucifix, then she looked back at Vowker. “I don’t want your help,” she managed. “I’m going to do this alone.”
She walked past him and headed back out onto the street.
Salvi walked along the road toward the third vic, Carly Fresner’s house. She stood outside and stared at it, her body frozen, her thoughts racing. In her mind she saw Sheriff Holt raise the sheet, saw the yellow dress, saw Mitch’s pale face, saw his back as he turned to the window. She recalled the scratch she’d seen on his bare back through the motel room doorway. The morning they’d found the second vic.
She walked to Rebecca Carson’s house and did the same thing. She studied the house, tried to look at it from the perp’s point of view. Thought of him sneaking around the back of her house. Pictured him breaking her neck.
Then she walked to Sharon Gleamer’s house and stood at the base of her porch stairs. Thought of the young girl lying naked on the kitchen floor. Thought of her parents walking in and finding her. She sensed eyes on her and turned around to the Fizzraeli house across the road. There, behind the screen door, stood little redheaded Sophia, staring at her. S
alvi began to approach, but as she neared Sophia stepped backward and shook her head.
“Stay away, sinner! You’re going to hell!” she said, closing the front door and locking it.
Salvi stood in the middle of the street, staring at the closed door. She sighed heavily and turned around to study the Gleamers’ house again. She felt the open space around her. The flat land, the low houses. The daylight, the trees, the birds singing. The simple way of life. They had removed daily temptations, and yet the sin had still found its way here.
And it had killed Sharon Gleamer, and Rebecca Carson, and Carly Fresner. And Salvi was next. “Pure” had been marked across her bed, a virtual target placed upon her. The question was, would it be her fate to join the other women? Or would she make it her fate to catch this killer and avenge their deaths? In a way these women were like her sister, Faith. Their lives stolen for some asshole’s titillation. Faith’s death had pushed Salvi into law enforcement. And now she was going to use that to find justice for these dead women.
She moved up onto the sidewalk again, analyzing the house carefully. All three victims’ houses were close enough together to walk between. All of them were close to the town center.
She looked over at Jason Stackwell’s house and began to move toward it but paused when she reached the gap between their houses. She looked down the side of Sharon’s and saw a clear view from the street into her bedroom.
A shuffling noise sounded behind her and she turned around to see Subjugate-12, Fontan Pragge, approaching. His eyes were fixed on her, one fist clenched in the other.
“Bad man,” he said, thumping his fist into his open hand. “Bad man.” He motioned up to Sharon Gleamer’s house, to her bedroom window.
The Subjugate Page 31
