The Hunted Girls

by Jenna Kernan

  “Anything else?”

  “Just what it says. We have an organized, stylistic killer who displays his victims publicly. Not acting on impulse but showing preplanning.”

  “Working with someone else?” asked Skogen.

  “Statistically unlikely. But I can’t rule it out.”

  “I’ll get my team working on this. See what we turn up.”

  “It would help me to have the victims identified.”

  “Working on that now.”

  Skogen’s desk phone buzzed. He took the call and then straightened, retrieving a pad of paper and pen. He began scribbling as he spoke ending with, “Okay. Get me all you can. I want to be there with the sheriff.”

  He disconnected.

  “We have a positive ID on victim one.”

  Four

  He secured his victim in a hog trap. The metal bars made a strong enclosure. If a hundred-and-fifty-pound wild sow couldn’t bash her way out, neither could this petite woman he’d taken around noon.

  She spoke little English. Where was she from? Central America was his best guess. She was about to get a taste of a North American jungle. This view included deprivation, insects and exposure. He’d taken her clothing, left her stripped bare.

  “Liberame,” she shouted, fingers through the cage, rattling her enclosure. “Let me out!”

  They all did that. Began with demands and threats. Those soon turned to begging and tears. The power of it all rushed up within him, giving him an arousal like no other.

  But it didn’t last.

  Why would he want to have her when he was so close to having the most rare and valuable of her kind?

  She was not worthy. Like the others. Just a bag of skin.

  This specimen was a worm on a hook. A lure to capture her interest and the first one that she had met. Once she knew of him, he would signal that he understood her as no one else ever could. Finally, and most important of all, he had to prove himself worthy. The male alpha for her.

  Yes, that was what he must do.

  He took out his crossbow and notched an arrow. When he pointed the tip at her, she screamed, holding up her mud-streaked hands in defense.

  Pathetic.

  The arrow shot through her calf muscle, pinning her leg to the ground.

  The scream she gave now was truly magnificent. The horror, shock and pain combining, turning her into the animal she had always been.

  He wouldn’t let her pretend to be something more than this. She was prey. Entertainment for superior beings. A creature made for the chase, and poor even at that.

  When her screams changed to whimpers, he left her.

  Soon, they would have their hunt.

  The name of the first victim was Nikki Darnell, the thirty-one-year-old married daughter of a wealthy developer. Skogen’s team had made the ID from a missing person’s report filed by Darnell’s husband. Dental records confirmed the match.

  Agent Skogen wanted Nadine along for the notification of next of kin. Her request to allow Detective Demko to accompany her was approved and he’d agreed via text.

  But first Skogen and Demko had to meet.

  Since Demko did not have his ID card, she met him in the lobby, where she found him waiting, chatting with the security guard.

  The weariness melted away with just the sight of him. Sweat stained his rumpled clothing and his face was sunburned. If she didn’t know better, she’d suspect he’d been fishing all day.

  That was possible, but she felt certain that bass and trout were not what he’d been after.

  Skogen’s warning that Demko’s role was only to consult with her rose in her memory. Clearly, he had already been out in the field.

  Demko extended a hand and she took it, allowing him to reel her in for a kiss on the cheek.

  “There’s my girl,” he said.

  She never grew tired of hearing his terms of endearment and drew back to beam up at him. The stubble on his face made him look like a pirate. She pictured him with a gold earring and her smile broadened.

  He turned to the guard. “Have you met Dr. Finch?”

  The man shook his head. He was not the same guard who had checked her in. This man was black with close-cropped hair touched with silver at the crown and a head as round as a bowling ball. He was massive and reminded Nadine of a professional wrestler.

  Demko cast her a reproachful look. “Which means you missed lunch.”

  Actually, she’d missed breakfast.

  “Brought it.”

  “Tony, this is Nadine. Nadine, Tony has twenty years on the job in Jacksonville. His grandkids live in DeLand.” He turned to Tony. “Ranchers?”

  “Citrus growers.”

  “Nice.” He turned back to her. “Ready?”

  Her brow knit for a minute. He made it seem as if he had been waiting for her instead of the other way around.

  “Not quite. Skogen wants to meet you.”

  “Later, Tony.”

  “Stay safe out there,” said the guard, giving Demko a salute.

  Demko offered his arm and escorted her back the way they had come, waiting until they were inside the office to give her a proper kiss. When she came up for air, she forgot what he was doing here. Only he did that to her, the befuddlement. Demko’s kisses were like a potent drug. And like any addict, she never got enough.

  “I’ve got a king-sized bed,” he whispered in her ear.

  “You know how to sweet-talk a gal.” She drew back as she recalled where they were and that the lead investigator was waiting.

  She’d been expecting him earlier, but he was late.

  “I thought you left this morning,” she said.

  “Miss me?” He wiggled his eyebrows.

  “You have no idea.”

  When were they going to have some time alone together?

  “What have you been up to?”

  “I checked in at the Ocala Police Department. Just common courtesy.”

  “And found out all you could on the case?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I did the same at Silver Springs. That’s a small outfit. And the sheriff’s office.”

  “And the ME’s office?”

  He grinned.

  “That all?”

  “Sheriff’s office took me to the body dump.”

  “You questioned people?”

  “A few.”

  “Clint, you are not an investigator here. Agent Skogen told me specifically that you are only to assist me. Process the information his team provides, is what he said. He doesn’t want you interfering.”

  Demko made a snorting noise. “Interfering. That’s a laugh. You know who has spoken to the owners of the businesses in the strip mall closest to that body dump?”

  She had a funny feeling that she did.

  “No one?”

  “Correct.”

  “No more of that,” she said. “At least without bringing me along.”

  He smiled. “I can work with that.”

  “Ready to meet Special Agent Skogen?”

  “Lead on.”

  On the way, she filled him in on the ID made on their first victim.

  In Skogen’s office, the agent in charge stood to greet them, anchored behind his desk. He buttoned his blazer as she crossed the threshold and the corners of his mouth tipped down.

  Clint Demko trailed behind her. She made introductions and stepped back as the two alpha males shook hands and sized each other up.

  Nadine pressed her lips together. You needed no skills on behavioral science to see that these two hated each other on sight.

  “So you got your gold shield in Miami-Dade and have been on the job in Sarasota over a year.”

  “Yes.”

  “With a solid solve rate,” said Skogen, showing them he had done his homework. “But I’ll remind you that this is my investigation. Dr. Finch’s input is essential. Yours is not. You are here at her request and only as long as I don’t find your work interferes with mine. We clear?”
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  Demko lowered his chin and smiled. “I understand my job here.”

  It wasn’t the verification Skogen sought, or acceptance of his position as subordinate.

  Demko had worked with the Feds and she knew that he generally found agents overbearing, with more education than experience.

  “You delivered notification of death before?” asked Skogen.

  “Many times,” said Demko.

  “Then I’ll let you handle it.”

  Notifying next of kin was a terrible job. So this was the reason Agent Skogen had been receptive to allowing the detective to accompany him. He was anxious to foist the dismal duty onto Demko.

  Nadine scowled, thinking it small of him to “let” Demko have the job that no one in their right mind wanted.

  “Sure.”

  “I appreciate you tagging along,” he said.

  Nadine’s mood soured further. Demko wasn’t tagging along. Skogen had just assigned him a job.

  “I want to make it clear to both of you that Detective Demko has no jurisdiction in this county and his role is strictly advisory.”

  Demko’s brows lifted. “So you don’t want me to notify next of kin?”

  Skogen turned to Nadine.

  “He always this difficult?”

  She glanced from her new boss to him.

  “When provoked.”

  She and Demko shared a smile.

  Skogen changed the subject, wisely, she thought. His attention shifted to the page before him.

  “Nikki Darnell’s husband, Roger, listed her missing on Saturday, March 13th, eighteen days ago. He is the owner of a small business and has his state contractor’s license. They rent a home in DeLand. Nikki previously worked for her father, Clem Miller, but switched jobs last February and now works for a financial planning group in Orlando. Seems to be some bad blood between father and daughter.”

  “I know of him. He’s a developer. A really successful one,” said Nadine. “He builds assisted-living places all over the state.”

  Demko nodded, perhaps recalling the controversy over one of Miller’s buildings in Sarasota that succeeded in gaining a variance against the community objections to the high-density project.

  “A man like that could have raised an army to hunt for his daughter. Gotten public awareness.”

  “Except my agents tell me he and his daughter haven’t spoken in over a year, since she announced her plans to marry Mr. Darnell.”

  “Does he know she’s missing?” asked Nadine.

  “Unknown. All my agents could verify was that Roger and Mr. Miller are not in contact.”

  “And he didn’t think to ask her father’s help when his wife vanished?”

  “Whether he thought of it or not, he has not been in contact, or so he claims.”

  “Disappearance in the papers?” asked Demko.

  “Yes. Local only.”

  “And her father lives in Orlando,” said Nadine.

  Skogen nodded.

  “Your people spoke to Darnell?” asked Demko.

  “Yes, and with every family who has reported a woman missing in the last month. Nikki was on the list. Her husband has been interviewed.”

  “But not her dad?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “We spoke only to next of kin or the person filing the report. In Nikki Darnell’s case her husband was both.”

  “What are the details of her disappearance?” asked Demko.

  Skogen referred to the page again. “Missing after she failed to return home after an early-morning walk with their dog in the state forest on Saturday, March 13th. Officially listed as missing on March 14th. Her husband located her vehicle at the trailhead she had mentioned.” Skogen sighed. “No sign of either Nikki or the black Lab until the recent bodies were discovered.”

  “Does she often walk alone in the woods?” asked Nadine.

  “Always with the dog, Char. Husband said the dog is very devoted to her and protective.”

  Not protective enough, thought Nadine.

  “Where’s her dog?” asked Demko.

  “Missing,” said Skogen.

  “You check the shelters?” asked Demko.

  “Not yet.”

  “How’d you make the ID?” asked Demko.

  “Dental records, verified by DNA match. Hair sample provided by Roger.”

  “Anything from the vehicle?”

  “Sheriff released it to Darnell after processing. My people are handling that now.”

  Nadine realized that the news they were to deliver would be a shock, the worst possible outcome, but not as great a shock as homicide notification from out of the blue. Nikki had been missing for over two weeks. Searches had failed. Her husband would be hoping for the best and fearing the worst. Unless he already knew, and her job was to assess if that might be a possibility.

  Skogen turned to Nadine. “Ready?”

  She narrowed her eyes and stepped up beside Demko. “We’ll follow you.”

  His mouth went tight. “Fine.”

  He checked with his assistant that the sheriff was waiting outside, and they followed him from the lot.

  Inside his SUV, Demko said, “He’s a charmer.”

  On the drive, Demko explained the procedure far more clearly than Skogen, who, she suspected, like her, had limited experience. Death notification generally fell on local law enforcement and to the detectives working the case.

  “You have a minimum of three. Usually a detective and two uniforms. In this case, one uniform. That will be the sheriff.”

  “Add to that an FBI agent and one forensic psychologist,” said Nadine.

  “You, me, Skogen and the sheriff. Yes.”

  “He’ll know we have bad news,” she said.

  “Yeah. But some part of him will likely hold out hope. First, we try to get him to allow us inside and get him seated. We do a visual sweep to make certain there are no sharp objects or weapons of any sort within easy access.”

  “I see. Self-harm, or do you think he might attack us?”

  “Both. People are unpredictable.” He paused, then took up the explanation again. “The sheriff is there to present a man in uniform. He grounds us and has our backs. His job is to observe and protect. Step in if things get hostile. I’ll deliver the news and answer all his questions. Then you ask who we can call to be with him.”

  “Skogen?”

  “I got no job for him. After Darnell’s questions, we leave our cards and are out. Sheriff remains until a relative or friend arrives. Never leave him alone. Got it?”

  “Yes. I’ve done this once before.”

  “Great.”

  She recalled the howl of a mother on notification of the sudden death of her child. She thought that cry of agony would live in her memory forever.

  “Everyone experiences grief differently,” she said.

  “Don’t I know it. Once had a guy run right through a sliding glass window after I delivered the news of his wife’s death.”

  “Acute stress disorder cause by psychological shock.”

  “Yes.”

  At three-fifteen in the afternoon, under brilliant blue skies, they parked before a modest home with pygmy palms flanking the entrance and assembled on the sidewalk. After a brief discussion, they rang the bell.

  They were expected. Skogen’s people had notified Roger that they had news on his wife.

  After a slight wait, the door opened and a gaunt man, with a hawkish nose, filled the gap.

  Skogen took over. “Mr. Darnell, I’m FBI Agent Jack Skogen. Might we come in for a few minutes?”

  “Did you find her?” He clutched the doorknob.

  “May we?” Skogen motioned to the house.

  Roger Darnell stepped aside to let them pass. Nadine entered between Skogen and Demko. Skogen chose the living room, taking a seat on the couch. Demko stood before the television, just beside the couple’s wedding photo, and Nadine perched between them at the opposite end of the couch from Skogen. T
he sheriff moved to be in clear view of Darnell, who settled in the recliner, waiting.

  “Did you find her?” he said again.

  Skogen looked to Demko, and Darnell followed the direction of his gaze.

  “Yes, Mr. Darnell. I’m Homicide detective Clint Demko. I am sorry to inform you that your wife is the victim of a homicide. We made a positive identification with both dental records and the DNA sample you provided.”

  Darnell’s face went red and tears sprang from his eyes. He retrieved the pillow from behind him and hugged it.

  “I’m very sorry for your loss,” said Demko.

  Darnell pressed his face into the pillow. The room went silent except for his ragged breathing. When he lifted his gaze, he seemed lost. He shook his head slowly, processing, Nadine thought.

  “What happened to her?”

  Demko gave a very amended version of events. “She was attacked somewhere on the trail and died from a neck wound.”

  And starvation. And a spine injury. And an alligator attack, thought Nadine.

  “Where did you find her?”

  “By the St. Johns River. Near a trail.”

  “Our dog?”

  “Still missing.”

  He swallowed hard, staring straight ahead.

  “Why would someone do this?”

  That one Demko did not answer. He just waited.

  “Do you have any suspects?”

  “As you can see, the FBI is involved. We are doing everything in our power to solve your wife’s homicide.”

  She admired how he avoided saying killer or murder. He obviously did know what he was doing.

  Nadine directed her attention to Roger Darnell. He seemed to have shrunk before her eyes. His posture drooped and he pressed a hand to his forehead.

  “I can’t believe this,” he whispered.

  Demko stepped forward. “This is my card.” He placed it on the coffee table. The sheriff did the same.

  “Do you have someone we can call to be with you?”

  He shook his head but said, “My brother.” He glanced to Nadine. “We were trying to get pregnant. We were…” His words fell off and he dropped his face into his hands as the grief pushed past the shock at last.