Don't Look Back

by Lynette Eason

  Dakota caught on quick. “The distance from where they lived to where they were buried is according to their number.”

  “Exactly.” George looked like a proud teacher.

  “So, I was pitched in the lake.” Jamie looked at Samantha. “It’s about three miles from Mom and Dad’s house.”

  “Closer to four, but yeah. We couldn’t believe you were found so close to home. Now we know why.”

  Jamie’s cell phone rang. Serena. “Hello?”

  “Jamie, I need you in the lab as soon as you can get here.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “You had a package delivered to you. Knowing the trouble you’ve been having, I called in the bomb people. It’s not a bomb, it’s a set of bones. Old ones, recently dug up, I would say.”

  “What?”

  “And a card signed ‘Your Hero.’”

  Sickness clenched her stomach. “Okay. I’ll be right there.”

  When she hung up, four pairs of eyes stared at her. “I need to go to the lab. Apparently, I’ve received another gift from him. Jake’s working on the box to see if there’s any evidence.”

  Dakota stood and sighed. “All right, let’s get over there and see what it is.”

  Connor looked at Samantha. “You sit tight. I’ll call when we know something.”

  Frustration nipped at her features, but she nodded. Jamie knew she wanted to be there; however, her health and that of the baby’s came first. “I’ll be waiting.”

  Snapping the laptop shut, George stood. “I’ll come too. We still need to discuss the girls that I think I counseled.”

  “That’ll have to wait. Let’s go.” Connor ushered everyone out of his house. They loaded into Connor’s car, George into his, and headed for the hospital.

  Almost before Connor could put the car in park, Jamie was out and running for the lab. Pounding steps followed her. She passed her office and saw Serena in Autopsy room two. Jamie burst through the door and stopped to catch her breath. “Where?”

  “I hope you drove carefully. I think you set a record.”

  “Connor drove.” Jamie nodded toward the innocent-looking brown box. Jake stood there snapping pictures. “Is that it?”

  Serena arched a perfectly manicured brow. “That’s it.”

  Trepidation clawing at her, she pushed it aside. But for the grace of God, that could have been her in the box. Anxiety shot through her.

  No, she wouldn’t panic here. This is where she felt safest, competent, in her element. Here, she was in control.

  A quick glance at the clock told her Maya’s funeral was in three hours. She would have to be done here in two and a half hours. She could do it.

  Connor and Dakota entered the lab and took up residence in the far corner. George said he’d be in his office and to keep him updated.

  Jake stepped back. “I’m done here. I’ve got a few things I can take a look at back in the lab, but I’m not making any guarantees.”

  Taking a deep breath, she reached for the box and opened the lid. “Thanks, Jake. Where’s Dennis?” Dennis Carter, their resident entomologist.

  “He’s already taken samples. Said the body’s been in the ground about six to eight years.”

  “Okay, who’s been missing that long?” she muttered to herself. As much as she’d studied the files last night, she should be able to pull a name from her memory.

  Nineteen-year-old Cristina Benini. From a wealthy Italian family. She’d disappeared eight and a half years ago.

  “You’ll want to take a look at this too.” Jake pulled her from the box. He handed her an envelope. “It was taped to the lid.”

  With a gloved hand, she took it from him. “Guys?”

  They approached. Absently, she noted Dakota’s woodsy scent. It calmed her.

  He asked, “What is it?”

  “An envelope.” She looked at Jake. “What’s in it?”

  “A couple of pictures.” He shook his head. “That poor girl. Just keep your gloves on.”

  Obediently, Jamie did as he asked and pulled the pictures from the envelope.

  “Here’s the note that came with it.” Jake handed her a piece of paper with typewritten words on it.

  Jamie read them aloud.

  “‘A gift for you, my lovely Jamie. Yes, it’s Cristina. A beautiful girl suffering so much angst. I helped end it for her. I’m her hero – just like I’ll soon be yours once again.’”

  It took all she had in her to remain poised, to ignore her impulse to crumple the paper, but if she did that, it would give him satisfaction that he got to her. She knew it would, and while he couldn’t see her right now, she refused to close her fingers around the paper.

  Instead she showed it to Dakota, then put it back in the plastic bag.

  Next, the pictures.

  Obviously already dead, her throat had been cut and she lay on a slab like the one in the morgue. Only it looked more like a wooden work bench than a stainless steel table. Bruises splotched the girl’s body. Arms, legs, ankles. One knee looked twice as large as the one next to it. She shuddered. “Where does he do this stuff?” Jamie wondered aloud.

  “He’s got to have a pretty big place. Either a basement or an attic – or even a whole separate residence.”

  “He can’t live near people and do it. They’d notice.”

  Connor blew out a sigh. “Not necessarily. People tend to mind their own business these days. The world’s not like it used to be with everyone knowing their neighbors and their neighbors’ business.”

  “That’s for sure,” Jamie grunted and looked at the next picture. A dark-haired girl who’d gone Goth, Cristina had an angry forehead. Whatever she’d been looking at in the picture, she didn’t like it. Black-rimmed eyes and black lips. Multiple piercings in the one ear she could see. A ring through her nose. A young woman searching for her identity, her life cut short by a madman.

  Emotion clogged her throat and Jamie swallowed. It’s not fair, God, it’s not fair. But she kept her cry inside.

  “Was she branded? Can you tell?”

  “I think so, get me a magnifying glass, would you?”

  Serena handed one over. Jamie focused on the girl’s upper arm. And spotted a 4. “We need to find her grave.”

  Connor got on the phone and asked for a team to search a four-mile radius from the girl’s home. “You’re looking for fresh dirt.”

  Dakota slapped a hand on the table, making Jamie jump.

  He stood. “Sorry, I’m going to talk to George about the girls he counseled and find all I can there.”

  Jamie nodded to the box. “I’m going to get started here.”

  “I’m also going to get busy tracing where the box was mailed from and see if we have a post office that may have caught this guy on camera.”

  Jamie huffed. “He probably didn’t even mail it.”

  A shrug. “You’re most likely right, but we’ve got to try.”

  “All right. I’m going to get busy on these bones. See what they have to tell me. Unfortunately, I have a feeling I already know the story they’re going to tell.”

  Dakota headed down the hall toward George’s office. He had one of the nicer offices on the hall, one that had its own entrance and exit.

  Knuckles rapped on the door and George called for him to enter. He looked around. “How’d you get lucky with this place?”

  “You mean the office?”

  “Yeah.” Blank walls stared back. Interesting.

  “I requested a separate entrance. This was the only office on this floor that had one excluding the morgue and entrances into the halls. I felt like my clients might appreciate the privacy it afforded. This way they don’t have to worry about running into someone they know. Or the coroner bringing in a body.” His lips twitched. “That would totally freak a few of my clients.”

  He could imagine. “Good idea. So where are all your plaques and pictures and stuff?”

  George laughed and waved to several boxes in the corner. “
Right there. In the time that I’ve been here, I haven’t had a chance to breathe, much less worry about hanging plaques.”

  Dakota smiled. “Right.”

  “All right, here’s what I’ve got. I treated four of the girls. I used to work at Eastside Psychiatric Therapists.”

  “What made you move?”

  “A doctor and I had a conflict on how to treat a client.”

  “Conflict about what?”

  “He wanted to release her, considered her cured. I thought the kid needed rehab. I … uh … said a few things to him I probably shouldn’t have, and then when the girl committed suicide, the tension around the office just got to be a bit much.” He shrugged. “I decided I wanted something different, applied for this position, got a contract with the police to do consulting work for them, and here I am.”

  Dakota stood and walked to the window. Looking out, he saw Connor’s car, his own that he left here when he’d caught a ride with Connor, and various other vehicles.

  And a light blue Honda.

  30

  The Hero laughed to himself. He was pleased with his plan. It was amazing that they were all really that stupid. He’d certainly led them on a merry chase all this time. When Dakota had bolted from the office, the Hero had stood silently and watched.

  The FBI agent had pushed up his timetable a bit, but that was all right. He was quite ready for all of this to be over so he could move on. Yes, he had probably worn out his welcome in this town.

  His mother’s contorted features played in his mind. Her twisted snarl that had so terrified him as a child now looked sad and pathetic when he brought her face forward from the back of his deeply buried memories. “I stopped you from all your partying, your drunkenness and evil ways, I did.” He had to whisper to her. No one else could see her, but the Hero could. Once, as a child, he’d gathered a flake of courage from a distant part of himself and asked her why she did the things she did. “Why, Mama, why do you do it?”

  For once she hadn’t slapped him or shoved him or burned him with her cigarette. Or worse, broken a bone. She’d simply looked at him, the pain in her eyes visible even to him, a young boy of thirteen with more rage in him than anyone should ever have. “Because it numbs the pain. There’s always the pain and that helps it for a little while.”

  “What would make it go away forever?”

  His little sister had slipped up beside him and tucked her hand in his. At the age of ten, she was tall and slender with a toughness that impressed even him.

  His mother gave a harsh laugh, looked at the two of them standing there, and pushed herself to her feet. “Death, kid, death would make it go away forever. But suicide is a sin, boy, and don’t you forget it. God don’t forgive people who kill themselves. So you just got to live with the pain.”

  Then she gave him a shove and he lost it.

  After he beat her, he cut her throat to make sure she was really dead. He’d hated her and loved her. He wanted her to hurt, to suffer the way he had, and in contrast he didn’t want her to hurt anymore.

  And so he’d made her pain go away, he’d rescued her with the voice whispering in his ear. “Make it stop, make the pain stop. Make it stop.”

  And so he had.

  And found his purpose in life.

  For a long time, he lived like everyone else. Only he and his sister knew his secret. No one ever connected him to the death, the rescue, of his mother, and he finished high school, made his way into college and medical school.

  And then she had come along his senior year and he had to rescue her. Only he hadn’t killed her, he’d been careless, and she lived to report him. He went looking for her. Showed up on her doorstep. When she answered the door, the look on her face had been priceless.

  He chuckled at the memory. “Hi, Rachelle, I’m back.”

  At his words, her eyes flew wide with terror and she screamed while tears flooded down her cheeks.

  She slammed the door in his face and he heard the locks click home.

  The next day he read about her suicide in the newspaper.

  He clicked his tongue. What a disappointment.

  His next one, he’d done right, though. Then the next one, and the next.

  And with his new identity, his new face, he’d eluded the law and become the man he was today.

  He watched Dakota grab Connor from the lab, saw them consult in the hall, then take off.

  No doubt to check out the blue Honda.

  The car he’d parked there on purpose.

  He checked his watch.

  It was time.

  Jamie leaned over the bones she’d been cleaning and placing on the table in front of her.

  Dakota had retrieved Connor and they’d rushed out of there like the place was on fire. The only thing they’d said was to stay put. Then a police officer had shown up in the autopsy room and said he was there to protect her.

  Something was going on and she didn’t like being left out of the loop, but she also had to get these bones, Cristina Bellini, ready for release to her family. And then head to Maya’s funeral. The bones had spoken. She’d died the way of the others. Cut marks on her ribs. No slash mark on the cervical vertebrae indicative of a slashed throat, but Jamie knew. She had no evidence, but he just hadn’t cut deep enough to hit the bone on this one.

  Jamie never looked up when Serena left.

  “Ma’am? Ma’am?”

  Blinking, pulled from her work, her world, she looked up to see the officer gesturing toward the door. Someone stood behind him.

  She walked over. “Oh, George, hi.”

  “Hey, can I borrow you for a minute?”

  She looked back at the bones. “Um … sure. What do you need?”

  “I just need you to look at something on my computer in my office. I was doing some more of that geographic profiling and thought I’d get your input.”

  “Okay, let me just get cleaned up here.” She stripped off the gloves and tossed them into the hazardous waste bin.

  He looked at the officer. “I’ll take care of her if you want to just hang out here.”

  “No sir, I’m going with you.”

  George shrugged. “Whatever.”

  Dakota checked the license plate and excitement ran through him. It was the same one. They had their car. Which meant their suspect was here, in the same building as Jamie.

  Dialing her cell, he closed his eyes in relief and said, “Jamie, he’s here somewhere in the building.”

  She pulled in a sharp breath. “Where?”

  “We don’t know. Just stay alert. Don’t go anywhere alone, even the bathroom, okay?”

  “I’ve got my bodyguard, Chet, here,” she said, referring to the officer Dakota had sent up to stay with her. “But how do you know it’s him?”

  “His car’s in the parking lot. The license plates are a match.” “Okay.”

  He could hear the fear in her voice even though she attempted to hide it. “I’m going to talk to Jake, then I’ll be right up and I promise I won’t let you out of my sight until this guy is caught.”

  “I’ll be waiting. George wants me to see something on his computer, so I may be in his office, all right?”

  “Just take Chet with you and sit tight. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “All right. I will.”

  They hung up and Dakota clenched his fist around the phone. He so wanted this guy. God, just let us get him, please?

  He wanted Jamie free of the past, of her tormentor who kept turning up and knocking her world upside down. “I’m giving Jake five minutes, then I’m out of here. I’m going to be Jamie’s shadow for as long as it takes.”

  “You know, Dakota, you might want to think about disappearing with her. It might be the only way she’s going to have a normal life and be safe.”

  “You mean disappear as in new identities and such?”

  “Unfortunately, yeah. And hopefully it wouldn’t be forever.”

  Dakota nodded. “Already thought abo
ut it.”

  The only response Connor made was to raise his eyebrows and nod. “Come on, let’s see what Jake has to say.”

  “Five minutes, Connor, that’s it. Then I’m getting Jamie from Chet and taking her someplace safe.”

  “You got it.”

  Jamie followed George into his office. Chet stuck his head in the door and looked around. Then he stepped back outside. “I’ll be right here, ma’am. I’m going to keep an eye on the hall.”

  She nodded and George told her, “Just have a seat over there by my laptop.” He snapped his fingers. “Hang on a second, I need to tell Chet something.” George slipped out and Jamie heard him murmur something to the officer before he pulled the door shut behind him.

  She wandered over to look out of his window, telling herself to relax. Being alone with George didn’t freak her out nearly as much now as it had in the beginning. It just took her a while to feel safe around a man. George had become one of the team, a fixture around the building. She spotted Dakota in the parking lot talking with Jake. Connor had his head in the blue Honda.

  Distracting herself, not wanting to think that the car right outside her might belong to the man after her … or that he could possibly be in the building, she scanned George’s bookshelf.

  Psychology books, medical references, books on mental illness. A whole shelf dedicated to serial killers.

  Jamie shuddered and clamped her arms over her stomach. She looked back toward the door. What was he doing?

  Another look around. No pictures. Interesting. She realized she didn’t know George well at all. Nothing personal about him, anyway. They’d been so focused on trying to figure out who was after her, she hadn’t taken the time to get to know anything about the man.

  The door opened and she spun around.

  George smiled at her and shut the door once more.

  Uneasiness curled in her. “Can you leave the door open, please?”

  He stopped. Tilted his head. “Why?”

  “I would feel more comfortable.”

  Moving toward the desk, he motioned to his laptop. “Let me just show you this. It’s rather confidential and I’d rather not have Chet hearing it.”

  A reasonable request? Maybe. Still she felt weird, anxiety clamping down on her. She shoved it aside and moved toward the door. “I understand that, but I’d prefer to keep the door open. In fact,” her pulse picked up speed, “I think I would rather just wait until Dakota and Connor can hear what you have to say, all right?”