Grabbing her black work bag, she once again leaned close to the bathroom door and called out through the haze of running water. “Want me to wait, Babe?”
“No,” he replied sternly.
She leaned back, waiting for more. When nothing came, she slowly walked out, shutting the front door behind her. He is perfectly normal, she told herself on the way to the elevator, I’m lucky I found him.
He waited until he heard the tell-tale click of the front door closing.
“Oh, thank God,” he said out loud, switching off the shower. He had been standing in his towel, waiting for her to leave for the last five minutes.
Unlocking and opening the bathroom door, he breezed through his apartment opening windows, trying to rid the place of her presence. He understood that he required a girlfriend to keep up appearances, but it was becoming difficult to maintain the charade. She wasn’t entirely stupid, or entirely unattractive, but for reasons unknown to him, he just couldn’t stand being around her. It wasn’t just her though — it was any woman — their emotional maintenance and social demands and, of course, their constant need for reassurance about how he felt and what he was thinking. Their insecurities were the one thing he could tolerate the least. Gripping the bench in the kitchen, waiting for his coffee to brew, he took a moment to enjoy the magnificent silence that always followed once Lucy had left. As he closed his eyes, Isabelle’s face flickered in his memory like an old movie reel. He could see her beautiful eyes pleading with him as he claimed her time and time again and the way her body responded to him, even though she didn’t want it to. Smiling, he remembered the first time he had ever experienced such elation; a young boy who barely knew at the time what he was witnessing as his body reacted in a way that was alien to him. He remembered her long tan legs and beautiful shiny hair. Feeling himself growing stiff at the memory, he forced open his eyes and mind to the present.
He was smart enough to know it was too soon, that it would be risky, especially now that Lucy was so fucking present all the time, but he also knew he needed another. Straightening his back, he poured himself a large cup of black coffee. In that very moment, he decided that this would be his last substitute. That after this one, he would finally claim what should always have been his.
***
Lana stared at the cash register. It beeped back at her. “I’m so sorry, ma’am,” she said, smiling at the miserable looking woman across the counter from her. “It’s very temperamental today,” she added, trying to mask her frustration with a sunny disposition. It beeped again, and she pressed the reset button. Nothing happened. The sour woman pursed her lips and folded her arms across her generous bust.
“I don’t have all day, girlie,” she said, staring at Lana impassively.
“I do understand that,” Lana replied and smacked the register on its side violently. The drawer snapped open with a whoosh, sending coins flinging into the air and onto the floor behind her. Lana ignored them completely and plastered a fake grin across her face.
“That will be $19.95, please,” she replied.
The lady, whose mouth had dropped open, slapped a twenty-dollar bill into her hand, snatched the bag and stalked out of the small boutique.
“Have a nice afternoon,” Lana mumbled under her breath as she bent down to retrieve the rogue quarters. She had been working as a sales assistant in the small but funky fashion store, Pieces, since graduating from high school three years earlier. As long as she could remember, she had wanted to be a fashion designer. The shop wasn’t much, that was true. It was kind of small, didn’t get a lot of foot traffic and boasted the oldest cash register known to man, but occasionally the owner, Suzette, let Lana put a few of her own items out for sale. She had even been allowed to dress the mannequin in the window with one of her designs last month. The item had sold within the first day of being on display. Yes, she only got ten per cent of the sale price, but the buyer had immediately recognised it as an original design and promised Lana that she would spread the word. One day, Lana thought, brushing her long dark hair off her shoulders and smiling, I will have a place like this, and every corner will be brimming with originality, quality and colour and finally Lana-do will be the brand on everyone’s lips. She shut the register drawer and watched a few window shoppers stop and glance at the sale rack. Yep, she thought, it’s only a matter of time.
At six o’clock on the dot, Lana turned the final lock, closing the store in what had been a very long day. Retrieving the takings, she punched the code into the safe and shoved the small bag inside for Suzette to bank the following morning. Humming an old Tracey Chapman tune under her breath, she grabbed her satchel that was overflowing with material samples, slung it over her shoulder, picked up her sketch pad and made a beeline for the parking lot.
The parking lot of the shopping centre had never really bothered her at night. She wasn’t a jumpy person by nature, but when she stepped out of the elevator onto the staff parking level, she was suddenly filled with a sense of unease. She walked towards her old maroon Ford, her pace slowed, and she glanced behind her nervously. Something is different, she thought to herself, but couldn’t place what. She shrugged, putting the feeling down to paranoia.
Opening the passenger door, first, she threw her things inside, once again looking over her shoulder. There were a few cars that remained scattered around — most of them would belong to the night cleaners and shop owners still inside finalising their day’s sales. Gary, the security guard, wouldn’t be far away either. He did his rounds every night, and she often bumped into him here at this time.
“Stop it!” she said aloud to herself. This is not a teen horror flick, she added mentally.
A small noise that seemed to come from behind her made her jerk around quickly. She felt her heartbeat instantly kick up a gear, and she could hear her own panicked breathing. There was nothing there, of course, but she was now fully on edge as adrenalin surged through her. Her senses were heightened as she stood frozen, still staring at her surroundings. Noises that she was once oblivious to shifted into focus. Distant traffic humming along the freeway and the repetitive echo of a dripping tap. It was only then, at her most aware, that she realised what it was that had been different, a seemingly minor detail that she had missed. It was dark.
The security lights that ordinarily surrounded her car were all off. Not a huge difference in the scheme of the whole parking level, nothing that she or anyone would overly notice, especially walking to their car happily singing a tune, but now that she was standing there looking back, the shadows had descended, and for the first time she recognised how truly vulnerable she was. A small sob escaped her mouth, and she knew she should move, she felt the danger, but fear kept her immobile. Her brain tried to rationalise with her — there is no one here! For God’s sake, get in the fucking car, Lana!
A scraping sound on the cement floor near her jolted her from her paralysis. She ran around the vehicle and practically dived inside it, slamming the door. Once safely inside, she immediately felt like an idiot. God, I hope no one just witnessed that, she laughed, feeling relief course through her body. She pressed the lock down on her door, then the realisation hit her. That was the instant she knew. Closing her eyes, she replayed the moment in her head when she had thrown her bag in the passenger door. She began sobbing quietly as her body started shaking all over. The door had been unlocked.
When he finally reached around from the back seat and firmly pushed the gun into her temple, he smiled.
“Shhh, shhh now, it’s OK, Lana, I’m going to take really good care of you.”
18
“Another day, another dollar,” Dennis mumbled, walking past Parker on his way into the elevator the following evening.
“You coming or going?” he asked, holding the elevator door open long enough that it started beeping incessantly.
“Coming,” Parker replied, “Elliott is on her way up,” he added.
“Any movement on your case?” Dennis asked, genuin
ely interested.
“Not much.” Parker shrugged, stuffing his hands deep into his pockets. “We may have a new angle, but it may be nothing.”
“Nature of the beast,” Dennis replied. “See you tomorrow then.” And he nodded as the elevator doors finally squeaked shut.
Parker strode over to his desk and fired up the computer. Surin was chasing up some real coffee so the night ahead would be slightly more manageable. He looked up in time to see her enter from the stairwell. She had her eyes cast down, a tote bag slung over her right shoulder, and a tray of large coffee cups. She looked up as she entered, smiling at a few colleagues as she headed over to him.
“Biggest I could find,” she said, placing a brown biodegradable cup in front of his nose. He inhaled the rich aroma of decent coffee and smiled.
“This will do,” he replied, taking off the lid and having a long, generous sip.
She sat in her chair and then pushed off, rolling over in his direction. “Let’s start broad and taper in,” she said, blowing on her own beverage before sipping cautiously.
Parker logged into ViCAP, the Violent Criminal Apprehension Program used across all branches of law enforcement.
“The first time I did this all I had to go on was method,” Surin stated. “You can’t imagine the hits I got when typing in: held, rape, dumped. It is disturbing how many crimes have occurred that fit that profile.” She shook her head. “I grabbed what I could, and honestly, I’m talking hundreds of cases.” Parker looked up at her as she continued. “I could have missed two, three, four girls, who knows.” She sat back, guilt overriding her features, and held the coffee firmly with both hands.
“Surin,” he said gently, leaving his hands on the keyboard in an effort not to touch her. “We have a lot more to go on now. You have help. Let’s see what we can dig up.”
She looked into his eyes for a beat too long and smiled. “You’re right,” she replied and sat forward again. “Enjoy that, because it won’t happen too often,” she smirked.
Parker looked at her with a grin and shook his head.
“There she is,” he said, “I thought you might have gone all squishy and girlie on me for a moment there.”
“Not today,” she answered, “start with this.” She reached over onto her desk and into her tote bag, retrieving a scrappy piece of paper, and slid it along the desk towards him.
“Long dark hair, early twenties, raped, held, dumped.” Parker read aloud.
“Shorten the time frame. We know about the then and now, we want the in-between,” Surin added.
Parker typed the information into the database and included the time frame they were interested in. “So, Emma was 2007, and then we had Kara Pettiman in 2011?” Parker asked, confirming the information with Surin.
“That’s right, four years is a lot of time to suppress his needs,” she answered, reaffirming their initial hunch. “He is good. His control is at freak level, but four years? Doubt that,” she added.
Parker nodded in agreement. “Control is one thing, this guy,” he said, gesturing towards the screen, “he has a deep-seated hate for women. Honestly, I doubt he can stand to be in their presence for very long unless he is in total control. He won’t have had any meaningful relationships — his ex-partners will feel like they dated a blank canvas.”
Surin listened intently adding, “He is smart, will have a job where he needs to use his intellect, he is at least average to above average looking and very well-groomed.”
“Well-groomed?” Parker added questionably.
“Yes,” she replied. “He needs total control in all aspects of his life. He will be impeccably groomed; his home will be clean and functional, but cold. Think modern,” she continued, “clean, blank, controlled. There will be no pictures, no warmth, just functionality.”
“What about childhood?” Parker asked. “I don’t get the sense that he was a victim at any point in his life,” he added.
“I agree,” Surin replied. “Not a victim per se, but different. People probably avoided him, which made it easy for him to fly under the radar in most situations. He almost definitely lacked a male role model. This guy grew up with at least one very dominant female, not necessarily abusive but emotionally unstable and easily agitated.”
Parker nodded in agreement. “We are painting a pretty dark picture of this unsub,” he said, holding his hand up and folding down his fingers one by one. “Patience, intelligence, hatred—”
“Don’t forget, the sexual aspect,” Surin interrupted, tapping on the table. “He rapes these girls, repeatedly. They are restrained and strangled multiple times until they die.” She crossed her legs. “Then the method of disposal, I mean he literally dumps them.” She gestured to the floor, emotion creeping into her voice. “No remorse. He feels nothing but disappointment that it’s over.”
Parker nodded. “Then the hunt begins,” he said quietly.
“The hunt,” Surin echoed. “Interesting that you say it like that.”
Parker looked at her, ignoring the flashing cursor on the computer.
“Interesting, how?” he asked.
She smiled back. “You’re the psychologist,” she stated.
“We have never really discussed his method of choosing a victim,” he added.
“No, we haven’t,” she replied. “I think it’s safe to assume he is hunting.”
“Absolutely,” Parker agreed. “No witnesses, no forensic evidence, and from what we can tell, no struggle.”
“He knows their routines, when they are alone, when he has access.” Surin wheeled over to her desk again, retrieving the pile of case files and spinning around with them on her lap. “He has a physical type. He sees them, chooses, and starts the stalking.”
“He may have more than one on the go at a time. A man like this would definitely think ahead to the next target,” Parker added.
“Emma was a waitress; Kara, a legal secretary; Jessica, a college student; Eva, a nurse and Isabelle was a lawyer.” As Surin read the names out, she dropped the files onto the floor in front of her. “There is no crossover we have found, he simply sees them, they fit his delusion, and their fate is sealed.” Surin put her head in her hands. “These poor girls, Parker, they didn’t even know they had targets on their backs.”
They both sat quietly for a few moments until Surin sighed and smiled sadly. “Let’s find the missing link then, shall we?”
Parker nodded, placing his hands back on the keyboard.
“Try 2008-2010,” Surin said. “That’s the gap between Emma and Kara.”
Parker hit enter and waited. The computer whirled for what felt like an eternity and then beeped with its result. Parker scanned the screen. “There are hits here, but no, no, nothing that looks right. Fifteen cases but nothing that fits all of the search criteria.”
Surin leaned forward over his shoulder. He immediately felt her brush up against him and shut his eyes to focus on the task at hand. “That can’t be right!” she said, louder than intended. “Shit,” she swore under her breath, and Parker felt her frustration. Defeated, she plonked back down onto her chair. “Fifteen.” She sighed.
“Yeah, a busy, few years, in Maryland,” Parker added dismissively.
Surin shot up in her seat. “Maryland.”
Parker looked at her, confused, waiting for more.
“He roamed, he ventured outside the state! This is what we have missed, Parker. How could I be so stupid!” she yelled. “Remove Maryland from the search parameters.” Parker did as she asked.
“Surin, a whole country? Do you know the hits we are going to get? It will be unmanageable.”
She stared at him, taking in what he was saying. “You’re right, let’s include states either side, Virginia, DC, Pennsylvania and Delaware.”
Parker’s finger flew across the keyboard, updating the search fields. They both sat in silence; the tension in the air was palpable. The beeping of the computer broke the quiet.
“How many?” Surin aske
d, not looking at the screen.
“Over a hundred,” Parker said quietly.
“Fuck,” Surin mumbled and started walking to her desk.
“Wait, Elliott,” Parker added. The tone of his voice made Surin turn around immediately. “There is, however, only one that matches all of the criteria.”
Surin stared at him. “You could have led with that Rhodes.” She smiled.
“Yes, I could have,” he replied with a grin and turned the laptop screen around to face her. “Meet Lilly Jackson.”
***
Lilly had been a nineteen-year-old childcare worker from Delaware. Her body had been found dumped four days after she had been reported missing by her co-workers in June 2009. She had been restrained, raped, and strangled, and not a single shred of forensic evidence had been recoverable.
“She could be Isabelle,” Surin whispered, staring at the missing person’s photo, “or Emma or Eva! The likeness is uncanny.” She stood up and stretched her back, grasping her hips and leaning forward.
They had been hunched over the computer for hours. “It’s not just the black hair,” she added, “they look so much alike, it’s freaky.”
“I agree,” Parker replied. “There is nothing random about any of this.”
“We have a time frame, though.” Surin sat back down and moved the mouse. “Two years apart.” She pointed at the screen to a timeline she had constructed of all the victims.
“Lilly slots in here,” she indicated, “between Emma and Kara.”
The Dark Places Page 10
