by Blake Pierce
Right now, she was feeling a bit overwhelmed. She was used to holding her trysts in her sordid little cubicle behind the gym or sometimes in a cheap motel. But today he’d asked where she’d like to go if she could choose any place she wanted. She’d thought it was a little game. More or less as a joke, she’d suggested this expensive, out-of-the-way hotel. She’d never been here but knew it was a vacation spot for well-to-do tourists.
The next thing she knew, he was making a reservation on his cell phone. Then she was in his car and on her way here. T.R. was certainly full of surprises. She wondered what else he had in store for her tonight. She couldn’t wait to tell Mitzi all about it. She was sure that her friend who also worked at the gym had never been to a place like this.
He had left her in the car and gone into the hotel alone to check in, carrying a suitcase and wearing a hairpiece and expensive-looking glasses that changed his appearance. She’d been surprised at how different those small changes made him look.
In a short time, he had come back to the car to escort her through a side door and to their room. When he opened the room door, she saw that it was beautiful and spacious. Peeking into the bathroom, she saw that it was quite elegant. A sliding door led from the room out onto a patio where pots of flowers were in bloom.
“How beautiful it all is,” she exclaimed, heading toward the patio.
But he gently blocked her way. “Sorry,” he said with a smile. Then he drew heavy drapes across the sliding door.
Of course, she realized. How silly of me. He obviously didn’t want to be seen with her, and it was best for her to stay completely out of sight.
She wasn’t bothered. How could she be? It was part of the job.
She sat down on the edge of the bed and looked around the room, eager to figure out what this john would want her to do next. This place was expensive, and he’d promised her a lot of money—money that she wouldn’t have to divide with Jaybird, the manager of the gym. She was delighted with the opportunity, but one thing was bothering her. She realized that T.R. might be expecting to spend a lot of time with her here. That could be a problem for her.
The john didn’t appear to be in a rush, and he seemed to be prepared for a leisurely afternoon. He pulled a bottle of chilled white wine out of the mini-fridge and poured two glasses. Handing one to her, he sat down in a plush armchair with his own. He nodded and gestured as if making a toast, then sipped his wine and seemed to relax into the chair.
She sipped her own wine for a few moments. Then she got up nerve enough to tell him, “I’m sorry, but I can’t stay long.”
“Why not?”
She fell silent. She didn’t know what to say. She’d never told a john the truth about herself. She hadn’t even told Mitzi everything. Jaybird was the only person who knew.
The man smiled a gentle, sympathetic smile.
“You’ve got a secret, haven’t you, Chiffon?” he said.
She said nothing.
He chuckled a little. “I understand. I really do. I’ve got some secrets of my own.” Then, after a pause, he added. “And I’ve got a bit of a confession to make. I feel a real a kinship with you. I feel like we understand each other in a special way.”
She was becoming quite moved. She’d never known a john to show this kind of openness. A lot of them didn’t even bother talking.
“Tell me about it.” He patted the suitcase. “I’ve got little surprise for you. I’ll give it to you if you tell me.”
The woman took a long, slow breath.
“My name isn’t Chiffon,” she said.
“Well, mine isn’t T.R.,” he said, chuckling again. “Tell me something both of us don’t already know. Tell me your real name.”
She felt as if she were on the edge of a precipice. But yes, she really did want to tell him. It would be exciting to tell him. It would be a new kind of adventure.
“My name is Gretchen,” she said.
“And?” the man asked.
“And—I’m married. I’ve got children.”
The man looked quite delighted now.
“Two children?” he guessed.
“No, three.”
He held her gaze for a moment. Yes, it felt good to be doing this. She wasn’t sure just why, but it felt absolutely right.
“I’m supposed to be at home right now,” she said. “I’m supposed to be doing whatever it is that stay-at-home mothers do. That’s what my husband thinks I’m doing. But it’s no kind of a life. There are too many hours in a day. I can’t keep myself busy.”
“And you get bored,” he said.
She giggled, feeling relieved to be able to admit it aloud.
“Oh, yes! More bored than you can imagine! But I do need to be home when the kids get back from school.”
The man fingered the top of his suitcase. “And you don’t need the money?”
“No. Well, the money’s nice. My husband keeps a pretty tight hold on the purse strings. I like having cash of my own.”
The man rose from the chair and walked over to the bed, carrying the suitcase. He sat beside Chiffon. He opened the suitcase just a little, holding it so that she couldn’t see its contents.
“Close your eyes,” he said.
She did so.
She felt his hands at the back of her neck. He was putting something around her throat.
“Now you can look,” he said.
She opened her eyes and jumped up to see herself in a nearby mirror, then squealed with surprise. She was wearing a thin silver necklace with an infinity sign. A little stone sparkled in the center of it. A real diamond, she was sure.
It must have been quite expensive. For a moment, she didn’t know what to say. Should she accept it? She didn’t know when or where she’d be able to wear it. She certainly couldn’t let her husband know about it.
Still, it was a sweet gesture. It would be rude to reject it.
“Thank you,” she said. Then she added, “I want to show you just how much this means to me.”
The man said nothing. She looked into his eyes. They seemed to be full of affection.
“Aren’t you going to tell me your name now?” she asked.
The man nodded. “In a few minutes. Go get ready.”
She found it fascinating, the way he gave orders like this. Somehow, his orders didn’t seem terse or controlling. His voice and his face were much too pleasant.
She giggled with delight and headed for the bathroom.
Wait until Mitzi sees this, she thought. Won’t she just die!
And she felt sure that T.R. still had other surprises in store. It was a thrill to try to imagine what might happen next.
Chapter Seventeen
The man almost laughed aloud when the little whore came out of the bathroom wearing nothing but the necklace he had just given her. The view of her naked body didn’t arouse him. He knew it would take something more to give him any satisfaction.
He was still fully dressed, sitting in the big upholstered chair across from the bed. He smiled at her, as if in appreciation.
“Get in bed,” he told her.
Without a word, she climbed between the luxurious satin sheets.
She pulled the covers around her, looking like a shy little girl.
No, he thought. She looks just like a hooker pretending to be a shy little girl.
He smiled broadly, and detected the relief on her face. She was trying hard to please him. As he got up and walked toward the bed, she moved the sheet downward to reveal her ample breasts.
She smiled up at him, and he was struck by how indifferent her efforts left him. Her little antics were not serving any purpose. Her trusting smile was actually turning him off.
“Put your hands behind you,” he said.
She rolled over on her side, facing away from him, and did as he had ordered.
“That’s good,” he said. “Just stay like that.”
He had placed his suitcase on a table near the bed and now he drew what he needed o
ut of it. Sitting on the bed behind the hooker, he deftly tied a rope around her wrists.
“Oh, my,” she exclaimed. But she made no complaint. He was sure he wasn’t the first john who had enjoyed tying her up. And after his show of generosity, he deserved to do whatever he liked with her. And he would do exactly what he liked.
“Now sit up,” he said. “I’ll help you.”
“All right,” she said. “What do you want to do next?” She was giggling again, perhaps a little nervously, he thought.
“Don’t turn around,” he said.
On his knees behind her on the bed, he stroked her hair.
“That’s nice,” she murmured.
Then he slipped the plastic bag over her head. She wasn’t giggling now. Stunned, she sat still for a moment. Then she began to struggle. He held the bag there forcefully. She thrashed her legs and kicked off the satin sheets. She tried to reach him with her tied arms. With his hands he held the bag in place and kept her from moving away from him.
After a few moments he whispered, “I’ll tell you my name now.”
But he knew she couldn’t hear him anymore, so he released her.
Then he sat on the edge of the bed, looking at the naked and pathetic little pile of a woman lying there. It had all happened much faster than he’d intended. He’d meant to dally with her for hours, until after dark. But he’d had to act faster after she told him that she didn’t have much time.
Not that he was disappointed. To the contrary, having to improvise and change his tactics added to his enjoyment. And he’d felt a wonderful sense of connection with her before he had done it. This killing had given him more pleasure than either of the others.
Now the pleasure continued, a silent afterglow of satisfaction. He decided to just sit there and savor that lovely feeling. The other times, he’d felt rather rushed to get rid of the bodies. But there was absolutely no reason to hurry this time. He could just wait here until dark.
And what was he going to do until then? Well, he could watch television. But no, that didn’t feel right at all. Chiffon—Gretchen—deserved more respect than that, a little pampering and attentiveness even in death. The last time he’d been with her, he’d found her a bit off-putting, and he hadn’t been sure that he liked her. But now things were different.
He gently stroked her hair and remembered what she’d said …
“There are too many hours in a day. I can’t keep myself busy.”
He admired the sentiment. Really, he did. Most people he knew lived Thoreau’s proverbial “lives of quiet desperation,” day in and day out. Not knowing what to do with themselves, they never did much of anything at all.
Not Gretchen. She had been a worthy victim. There had been good sport in killing her.
Time passed at a relaxed, meditative pace. He raptly watched the shadows shift over Gretchen’s body as night settled in. He was surprised at how soon it seemed dark enough to finish things. The rest of what he had to do was simple drudgery in comparison to the act itself. Even so, it had to be done.
He pulled a black body bag out of his suitcase. He’d used simple garbage bags in the past, but now he thought better of it. A body bag seemed a much more secure receptacle. He laid it across the bed, then arranged the body inside, still naked except for the silver necklace.
Then he zipped the bag up. He stepped out onto the patio to make sure nobody was around. His car was parked only a few feet away.
He went back inside, threw the remarkably lightweight burden over his shoulder, and carried it out to his car. He opened the truck and put it inside.
He went back into the room and looked around for anything Gretchen had left there. Her handbag and the clothes she’d been wearing were in a neat pile on the bathroom floor. Inside the handbag, he found her cell phone, a little cash, some keys, and some Kleenex. He picked up the phone and stared at it for a moment. He was sure she’d had no time to make a call, but when anybody started looking for her they’d try to locate that phone. He put it on the floor and smashed it with his heel. Her wallet held her driver’s license, some photos of kids, and a little cash. He tossed it back into the handbag, then he put all her stuff into a garbage bag to sling into some random dumpster far away from anything that could be connected to him.
Then he walked around the room making sure that nothing was left behind, just like any hotel guest getting ready to leave. He hung a “DO NOT DISTURB” sign on the hallway door. He wasn’t going to check out right now. He’d come back tomorrow morning and do that, so that it would look like he’d spent the night here alone. Of course, he’d checked in with a credit card with a phony name.
Finally he exited through the patio, got into his car, and drove. As he drove into the deepening night, he took stock of his current situation. Things were at a dangerous point now. Because of his sloppiness with Nanette’s body, law enforcement at every level was now arrayed against him. He was at very great risk.
To her credit, Chiffon—Gretchen—embraced that kind of risk, positively lived for it. But his approach to life was different. As a connoisseur and an epicure, he wasn’t out to live life on the edge. He didn’t want to be famous. He’d be just as happy if nobody ever found out about these murders. All he wanted was to enjoy the moment of a woman’s death. It was a private matter between himself and his victims.
Is that too much to ask of life? he wondered.
There was no question in his mind that he deserved those pleasures.
Such thoughts passed through his head during the two-hour drive to the lake. He’d chosen a different lake this time, of course—one that was farther away from Phoenix, where no one would think to look. This one, too, was an artificial, freshwater lake created by flooding a deep canyon. He liked to come to lakes like these recreationally, and he knew this one well.
With his headlights off, he drove along a gravel road until he found the spot he was looking for. He made no mistake this time. It was a ledge near the road that hung over the water, and he knew that it dropped straight down into considerable depths.
He parked, got out of the car, and looked around the scene. The moon shone but faintly through a thick bank of clouds. The weather was certainly in his favor.
He got the body bag out of the trunk. He zipped it open and arranged a number of heavy rocks around the body. He zipped the bag up again and rolled it off the ledge. It made a louder splash than he expected.
Suddenly a light appeared. It seemed to be from a boat a few hundred feet from the shore. He guessed that someone was nighttime fishing out there. But why had they turned on the light? Had they heard the splash?
He doubted it. They were probably changing bait or something. In any case, even with the light, he was sure they couldn’t make out his form from such a distance. He went back to his car, got in, and started to drive, keeping his headlights off until he was a fair distance off.
It’s been a marvelous night, he thought.
He felt a bit melancholy that the whole thing was over. But he promised himself that he’d do it again soon.
Chapter Eighteen
After Riley and Bill spent another tedious day at headquarters, she felt the exhaustion creeping in. The pessimism. It was getting late, and it was about time to wrap things up. They had been in Phoenix since Saturday under the flimsy pretext that Nancy “Nanette” Holbrook’s murder might be the work of a serial killer. But with every passing hour, that seemed less likely. And if Nancy’s death had been a one-off, it was time for the FBI to turn things back over to the local police—and for Bill and Riley to head back to Quantico.
Of course, if Calvin Rabbe’s alibi didn’t hold up, she and Bill would have some reason to stay on the case. Riley hoped that that would get sorted out soon, one way or the other.
Riley felt tired and apprehensive when she walked into the computer lab with its daunting array of screens and equipment. At the center of the vast array of computers sat the head of the digital tech department, a young woman who simply called
herself Igraine. She was definitely an odd character—hardly the sort of technician Riley was used to back at Quantico. Special Agent in Charge Elgin Morley had told Riley that Igraine was a self-described technopagan.
Igraine had rainbow-dyed crew-cut hair, and her face and ears were pierced with a wildly colored array of plastic-head diaper pins. Her clothes, by contrast, were gothic black. Her workstation was decked and littered with amulets and little circles of colorful stones and crystals.
“What have you got for me, Igraine?” Riley asked, sitting next to her.
“I’ve got nothing,” Igraine said. “Oh, lots of murders of prostitutes, naturally. We had a series of strangulations back in the nineties. But none of those MOs really fit.”
Riley didn’t know how she felt about this news. The fact was, the seemingly endless number of unsolved murders and disappearances of prostitutes nagged at her.
Riley asked, “Have you checked water-related deaths for the past few years?”
“Sure, for two whole decades. One dead prostitute was found in a creek, but her killer was caught and convicted. A serial killer murdered one of his victims in a bathtub, but none of his victims were prostitutes, and he’s on death row now. Other bodies are found in lakes around Phoenix from time to time. Accidental drownings, boating and swimming accidents, that kind of thing, and the victims are mostly guys at that. As for using the lakes for corpse disposal, I’ve turned up zilch.”
“Is there anything else you can do?” Riley asked
Igraine leaned back in her chair and let out a groan of impatience.
“You mean, to magically turn a single murder into a serial? Not without calling upon the forces of darkness. Frankly, I don’t think the FBI ought to be dabbling in that stuff. Leave the black arts to the CIA. Believe me, I’ve tried every cyber-spell I can think of. Anything more, and I’ll make the Uber-Spirit very angry.”
Riley knew that, in her own special language, Igraine was telling the truth.
“That’s OK, Igraine. You can call it a night.”
Riley left the lab just in time to meet Bill in the hallway.
