by Roger Hayden
“Good,” Nelson said. “I’m really going out on a limb with this one, Mike.” He sounded exhausted. “The Chief wants answers. We can’t keep the Gordon McDonnel murder under wraps for much longer. Got in touch with his family. They live in Utah. It’s bad. All of this is bad.”
“I know,” Dobson said. “I just need a little more time. This is the spot. I’m sure of it.”
“God help us if he strikes somewhere else,” Nelson said. “If this is indeed a serial killer scenario, there will be demands for a special task force. Might even have to bring in the Feds.”
“It’s a possibility,” Dobson said. “But for now, our best bet is to remain quiet. Let him feel safe to walk the streets.” He paused, glancing at the Erickson house as an outside porch light came on. “Any word on those call traces from earlier?”
“Nothing,” Nelson said. “Front desk said that the caller sounded like he was speaking through some kid of voice box, but they didn’t know at the time to be suspicious.”
“I’m not surprised,” Dobson said.
The Captain tried to speak but was cut off by someone interrupting in his office. Dobson waited as Nelson engaged in a brief and inaudible side conversation and then got back on the line. “Okay. I’ve got to brief the Chief Deputy if I ever want to get out of here tonight. You call my cell if anything happens. Anything at all. If not, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Sure thing,” Dobson said.
“Oh, and Mike,” he continued. “Remember that our necks are out on a limb now.”
“I understand.”
Nelson hung up without another word as Dobson leaned down and plugged his phone into the car charger. He’d been using it non-stop throughout the day. For now, it was time to take a break.
“How is Captain Nelson doing?” Sterling asked.
“Stressed out as usual,” Dobson said.
Sterling ate from her bag of trail mix as they sat watching the house in the eerie silence of the neighborhood street. Cars came and went without raising much suspicion, but Dobson took plate numbers anyway. By the next hour, he radioed the other detectives, with everyone reporting the same: no changes.
They waited and watched as another hour passed and then another. Dobson dozed off around midnight and was woken in the next hour by Sterling, who then took a nap with her head against the back of the seat. They drank coffee and energy drinks in between their shifts, not saying much to each other after their conversations dried up.
Dobson looked at his watch. It was three in the morning, and his back and legs ached. He wanted nothing more than to get out of the car and stretch. Sterling lay back in her seat, sound asleep for another brief interval of rest. Dobson stared at the house, looking at its spacious yard and the darkness that surrounded it.
No cars had driven down the street for hours. No person had so much as walked outside. It was as though the entire street was synchronized in slumber. Dobson’s eyes suddenly perked up when he saw a small shadowy figure scurry across the road nearby. Hand on his pistol, he leaned closer to the windshield and caught a glimpse of what appeared to be nothing more than a raccoon. He leaned back in his seat, laughing to himself. There was nothing like a nocturnal animal to keep him on his toes.
“Detective Dobson,” Sterling said, shaking him. He woke up, startled at the morning light that surrounded them.
“What!” he said in a panic. “What’d I miss?”
“Nothing,” she said. “It’s morning. You were out for an hour.”
He brought his wrist watch to his face, rubbing his eyes. It was 7:15 a.m. During the entire night, they hadn’t seen a thing—no suspicious vehicle cruising by the house and not a single person who had so much as stepped foot onto their lawn.
“Everything okay?” he asked, his voice gravelly and throat dry. He immediately dug into the back cooler, pulling out a bottle of water.
“Yeah,” said Sterling. She held up the clipboard with a written log. “I’ve got everything right here, by the hour. No disturbances.”
Dobson narrowed his eyes toward the house. “Are we sure about that? Did you hear from the family yet?”
“Not yet,” she said. “But I saw the husband go outside to get the newspaper about an hour ago.”
Dobson scratched his chin in thought and then reached for his handheld. “Car eleven. What’s your status?”
After a pause, Harris finally answered. “Still here, and nothing happened.”
Jones suddenly cut in. “All’s well. I’d love to get me some pancakes about now.”
Dobson lowered the radio, relieved but disappointed.
“You both can take off as soon as we find out that everyone’s okay,” he said into the handheld.
“Thank you, my liege,” Jack responded with sarcastic dryness.
Suddenly, the automatic garage door began to open, revealing Janet Erickson wearing a short-skirted pink suit, holding her children’s hands as they walked to the minivan parked in the driveway. Behind them emerged Cooper, again wearing jeans and a polo shirt.
“There’s our happy family,” Jack said. “Looks like they’re all yours.”
“Thanks, Jack,” Dobson said into the mic. “Thanks to you both.”
“Don’t mention it. Same place, same time, later?” he asked.
“I don’t know yet,” Dobson said. “We’ll keep you posted.”
He watched as Janet ushered her children into the minivan. Deep down, he hoped that it hadn’t all been a waste of time. He hoped something had been thwarted or some new clue would turn up. He opened his car door and stepped out to stretch. Sterling followed suit and stretched against the car as he scanned the street, which seemed to be waking up.
“I’m going to have a word with Cooper before we go,” Dobson said, walking around the front of the car and across the street to the house. Sterling followed with a slight limp.
“Sorry, my foot’s asleep,” she said with a laugh.
Cooper opened his truck door and looked over as they approached.
“Well?” he bellowed. “Did you see anything?”
Janet was already in the idling minivan and ready to leave.
“Nothing, but I’m glad that your family is okay,” Dobson said.
“Me too,” Cooper said. “Maybe it’s nothing after all.”
Dobson shook his head. “I wouldn’t rush to conclusions yet. He could try again.”
“I wouldn’t count on that,” Sterling added. “He could be watching your house just like us.”
Cooper studied both detectives with an air of apprehension. “How much do you know about this guy?”
Dobson held up a piece of paper. “I looked through the names you wrote down, but we’re still not sure. Everyone in your graduating class could pass for a serial killer.”
Cooper laughed. “Yeah. You’re probably right.”
Janet honked the horn of the minivan and pulled out, waving at her husband.
“Bye, honey!” he said, waving back. “Good luck today.”
She blew him a kiss and continued out of the driveway and then down the street. Cooper turned his head back to the detectives with a smile.
“She’s got a busy day ahead of her. First, drop off the kids and then go to the courthouse.”
“She works there?” Sterling asked.
Cooper nodded. “Sometimes. She’s a paralegal.”
Dobson glanced at the large, shiny truck. “Where are you going?”
“To the job site,” Cooper said, patting the driver’s side door. “We’re building an addition to the Winter Garden Plaza. Big project.”
Dobson’s focus went back to the house, with its opulent aura. “Be careful out there. We’re going to keep watch at least for a few more days.”
Cooper shook his head. “You really think that’s necessary?”
“I do,” Dobson said.
Cooper shrugged and then shook both their hands. “I appreciate your concern. Just find this guy. Please.”
“That
’s why we’re here,” Dobson said.
Cooper jumped into his truck and turned the ignition, roaring the engine to life. Dobson and Sterling stood back as he pulled out of the driveway and waved. Dobson couldn’t shake the strange, unsettling feeling in his gut. He hoped more than anything their resources hadn’t been pulled in the wrong direction. He longed for no more surprises.
“Well, that’s it for now,” he said to Sterling. “I’ll drop you off at the station. Go home, get some rest, and we’ll meet back up this afternoon.”
“Shouldn’t we stay for a little bit longer,” she asked, staring at the house.
“We can’t,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Unless you want to work for free.”
Dobson arrived home around ten in the morning to an empty house. Rachel’s car was gone, and he assumed that they had gone to breakfast together, as they often did on a Friday. He walked to his bedroom, exhausted. Between brief naps in the car the night prior, he had no idea how long he had been up. It had felt like days. Once inside his room, he tossed his wallet and keys onto the dresser and kicked his shoes off. The unmade bed before him was the least of his concern, though he couldn’t shake the sense of worry he had upon leaving the Erickson home. Sterling may have been right, but they couldn’t watch them all day, every day. Perhaps the killer had his sights on another target. Dobson just didn’t know.
He took his shirt and pants off, placing them over a nearby chair. Cell phone in hand, he set the alarm for two hours ahead and then scrolled through recent calls to make sure that he hadn’t missed anything important. The house was quiet, which was just he needed. Dobson lay down on his bed with a sigh of relief. He was one stakeout down and possibly several more to go. He thought about Sterling and the strange timing of her hiring. She seemed bright and eager enough to be a good detective, but he wasn’t sure if he was the right mentor. He believed that she should have been paired with someone younger and less jaded. Then the importance he held their current case occurred to him. Maybe he wasn’t so jaded after all. The job still mattered. He was a detective. It was his purpose. He wanted to retire knowing that he had made a difference.
Dobson rested his head back against his pillow and closed his eyes. His mind raced with endless questions and restless anticipation toward catching the killer. The case had become personal. Someone was watching him and keeping track of his movements. They knew he had talked to Gordon. They knew enough to lure him to the plastics factory. He wondered in which ways he had compromised himself. And if so, how?
He was aware that while he lay in bed, the killer was roaming freely around town. The thought bugged the hell out of him. He couldn’t shake the image Betsy Wade’s headless body from his mind. What had the killer done with her head? And what of Gordon McDonnel’s eyes and Victoria Owens’s scalp? It was clear that he was taking trophies of his victims for some sick and demented reason. Dobson felt close to making the connection between the victims, but he wasn’t quite there yet. He needed to rest or he wouldn’t be any good to anyone. His mind drifted from the case to thoughts of other crime victims of the past; the people he couldn’t save. Was he a good detective, or had he just been lucky so far? Anger seethed inside him toward the killer, an anger he found comforting. Before he knew it, he was falling asleep.
Janet Erickson left the courthouse and walked along the third level of the parking garage in a hurry. Alex and Brianne, her two children, would be home from school soon, and she wanted to have their snacks ready. They always looked forward to their after-school snacks, because school lunch was at an ungodly 10:45 a.m. and they were always hungry. She found her mini-van parked near a fire exit, where an overhead bulb flickered.
Her afternoon meeting had gone well with several representatives of a major bank who had retained her to research zoning regulations for their anticipated expansion. After hours of discussion, she was mentally worn and ready to go home. She had thought little about the danger who family was supposedly in. She hoped that Cooper was just being overcautious and that no one was really after them. The idea did seem foolish, after all. Despite her reservations about Gordon, she felt shocked and saddened by his sudden death and wondered why she hadn’t heard anything about it yet in the news. It almost seemed like a joke.
As she walked through the quiet, dimly-lit parking garage, there didn’t seem to be a soul around. Her high heels clicked along the concrete pavement with every step. She pulled her keys from her purse, humming to herself, and remotely unlocked her minivan. Further ahead, it’s lights flashed. A stillness in the air filled her with unease as she realized that no one else was around—strange for it only being the afternoon. She quickened her pace toward the van and pressed her remote lock once again, just to be sure. She heard the van unlock and went straight to the driver’s side door.
As she went for the door handle, Janet caught a reflection in the window of a man behind her. He was close and wearing a hoodie, approaching her with stealth. She turned around, startled, as the man rushed at her and slammed against the van door. Her purse fell to the ground as she screamed, only to have a large gloved hand cover her mouth. She felt his monstrous grip around her waist and arms and frantically tried to pull away. Her muffled screams continued, helpless as her panic increased. Disoriented, confused, and terrified, she had no idea what to do.
“Hello, Janet,” the man said in a raspy voice. “Nice to finally meet you.”
She tried to turn her head to look at him, only to feel an intense sharp stab in her side, something ripping through her pretty pink jacket, the silk blouse, through the skin, and muscles and organs inside of her.
Cooper Erickson walked outside his work trailer, ready to engage in the secret tradition of a daily cigarette behind a stack of wood beams. Most of his employees had left early for the day, excited for payday Friday. It had been a long and busy day, but in another hour, he’d be home. He dug into his pockets, pulling out his pack of Camels, and lit the cigarette, breathing in its soothing calm. He planned on calling Janet before he left, just to see what she wanted to do for dinner. His mind was more at ease than the day prior. Strangely, he hadn’t thought much of Gordon through the day. His old friend’s murder still seemed so unreal. There would have to be funeral arrangements and the like, but he didn’t the contact information for any of Gordon’s family. He thought of Victoria and Betsy as well. He hadn’t talked to either of them in over twenty years. Their deaths baffled and troubled him. He took another drag of his cigarette, feeling an intense sadness about the entire ordeal, followed by anger toward whomever had killed them.
He flicked his finished cigarette into the sand and looked back at his trailer. Inside his office, in the desk drawer, he had a loaded nine millimeter Swiss & Wesson. He planned on bringing it home for extra protection, hoping that the killer would be so bold. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and called Janet to check in. The line rang and rang until it went to voicemail. Cooper waited impatiently for the beep and then spoke.
“Hey, babe. Leaving the site in about an hour and wanted to see what you were up to. Let me know what you want to do about dinner tonight. Talk to you later. Bye.”
He hung up the phone, considering a text message, but decided against it. If he stood around texting all day, he’d never leave. A semi-truck roared past the construction site as he headed back to the trailer to finish some lingering paperwork. He walked up the steps and then turned to see what looked like Janet’s minivan parked by two Port-a-Johns in the distance. He stared ahead, curious and then walked back down the steps and toward the van, roughly fifty feet away.
“Janet?” he called out. The closer he got, the more assured he was that it was her van, though he had no idea what she was doing there. Sunlight glared against the windshield, preventing him from seeing inside. His confusion grew the closer he got to the van. He hadn’t seen it there before and hadn’t even heard it pull up. He noticed the Charlotte Hornets plate on below the front grill, verifying that it was her van after al
l.
“Hey,” he said, waving his arms. “Where are you?”
Ten feet from the van, he heard footsteps rush behind him, and before he could even turn around, a long blade lodged itself into his back. Cooper froze in immense pain, having no clue of what had just happened. His attacker lodged the knife in deeper and pushed Cooper to the ground. He fell on his knees, kicking up dust and gagging as the knife left his back. He felt paralyzed and unable to breathe. Sunlight glared in his face as he screamed out for help. A gloved hand quickly covered his mouth as the knife swept across his throat without warning.
Sterling returned to the Erickson’s’ neighborhood to engage in some quick surveillance. She wasn’t happy about leaving in the first place, and wanted to make sure that everything was okay. Most importantly, she wanted to survey the area of any suspicious activity. If they were going to watch the house throughout the night, it made no sense to her to leave it unguarded during the day. Her calls to Dobson’s phone had gone unanswered. Officially, they were supposed to meet up at the station within the hour, and she had planned to watch the house until then. From behind the wheel of her Jeep Cherokee, she steadily approached the Erickson home to see no cars in the driveway. She slowed and parked in front of the house, keeping a watchful eye of her surroundings. No one appeared to be home. Many of the other homes around it were just as quiet. She waited, with the engine idling, and glanced at her cell phone. She had a missed call from her mother two hours ago. Her attention left her phone upon hearing a school bus. Sterling looked up and watched as the big yellow bus slowed to a halt at the end of street far ahead. Its doors opened and children began to pile out. She couldn’t believe that it was already so late in the afternoon.
She waited as children dispersed in different directions. Among them, she recognized the two Erickson kids walking down the street and toward the house. Not wanting to frighten them, she turned off the ignition and stepped out of the jeep, waiting on them. They were still about three houses down, and she could already see their curious expressions. She waved to them as they cautiously approached. Her visit to the house wasn’t official and no one else in the department knew she was there. Was she already breaking the rules?
