Vail 01 - The 7th Victim (12 page)
He reinserted the badge into his credentials wallet and slipped the leather case into his suit coat pocket. He reviewed the surveillance pictures he’d taken of Sandra Franks, the woman who’d caught his attention a few days ago. Yes, she was an evil one all right. As he flipped through the photos, his jaw tightened.
Definitely evil.
Definitely evil.
“This evening’s prize is a thirty-year-old dental hygienist originally from Tallahassee, Florida,” he announced with game-show-host vigor. “She skis in the winter, swims in the summer, and lifts weights year-round. A fine physical specimen. Dennis, tell her what she’s won.”
He chuckled and began swinging his legs beneath his chair. Three times forward, followed by a clicking of his heels. Click click click. Three times; that’s just the way it had to be.
He put the photos down, then slipped the pipe into the handmade holster on his belt.
“It’s time! We’re off to see the Wizard, the wonderful Wizard of Oz. The wizard of Oz! Ozzie, Ozzie and Harriet. Harriet, the original bitch. Bitch, bitch, that’s all she does. Bitch, bitch, I’ll get that bitch!”
He shrugged into his suit coat, smoothed down the lapels, then appraised his tie in the mirror. He straightened it, then tightened it. Patted down the faux mustache, checked it from all angles. Next was a wool overcoat, topped off with a black Stetson hat.
He stopped by the hall mirror and regarded his reflection. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled the FBI credentials case. He flipped it open as he’d done a hundred times before and tilted his chin back. “FBI, ma’am. Please open the door. I need your help.”
I need your soul. I need your . . . Eyes.
I need your soul. I need your . . . Eyes.
eleven
T
he pulsed tones of her BlackBerry made Vail jump as she rounded the corner a few blocks from her house. She fished through her pocket and rooted out the device, which displayed a missed call from Robby. Alternating her gaze between the dark, rain-slick roadway and the touch pad, she phoned him back.
he pulsed tones of her BlackBerry made Vail jump as she rounded the corner a few blocks from her house. She fished through her pocket and rooted out the device, which displayed a missed call from Robby. Alternating her gaze between the dark, rain-slick roadway and the touch pad, she phoned him back.
As it rang, the intermittent rain returned and began pelting her windshield with a fury. She fumbled for the wiper control as Robby answered.
“Got a call from Bledsoe,” he said. “Neighbor found a body, 609 Herrington. He said it sounds like our guy. He’s en route, at least fifteen out, asked me to call you.”
“I’m only about half a mile away.”
“I’m not too far myself. Meet you over there.”
The house was a modest one-story brick colonial, the lawn and planters in need of a gardener. A candy apple red Hyundai Sonata was parked in the driveway, a police cruiser behind it, kissing its bumper.
Vail pulled up to the curb, her headlights catching the tear-smeared face of a woman in her fifties standing beneath the porch overhang. Her eyes were puffy, her legs dancing from the cold. A uniformed officer stood beside her.
Vail displayed her credentials as she approached the house.
“Sandy!” the woman whined. “Sandy, she’s in there, she’s . . . oh, God. She’s—”
“Did you clear the house?” Vail asked the young cop.
“No, when I saw the victim, I left everything as it was and got the hell out. I didn’t want to compromise—”
“Wait right here,” Vail told the woman. “Stay with the officer.”
Vail drew her Glock, holding it in a white knuckle grip as she pushed open the front door. Complete darkness. A sudden crack of thunder in the near distance sent another few cc’s of adrenaline cascading into her bloodstream.
A metallic smell stung her nose as she walked into the tile entryway. Blood. Death. Slowly into the hall, her pupils large black holes. Heart thumping, sweat popping out across the back of her shoulders.
Off in the distance, above the din of pouring rain striking pavement . . . footsteps.
Rapid, like her heart. The chambering of a round. A semiautomatic . . . a large one. She pressed her back against the wall and waited in the darkness. The footfalls stopped suddenly, and she could feel the presence of a body as it moved down the carpeted hallway toward her. Breathing.
She slid into a crouch and squinted so the whites of her eyes did not reflect a light source and give away her position. A large body turned the corner a few feet away. It was Robby.
She let air escape from her lips and her shoulders slumped in relaxation. “Scared the shit out of me.”
“Vic?”
“Haven’t found her yet.”
They walked in tandem toward what appeared to be the bedroom. But before they reached the door, Vail saw something in the darkness smeared across the walls. Blood. Murals.
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
Vail pushed her right shoe against the bedroom door and swung it open. They stood in the doorway and stared at the young woman splayed out across her bed, filleted in the abdomen, and skewered through the eyes.
A flicker of lightning followed by a brilliant flash poured in through the open bedroom window. Vail’s eye caught something in the yard, and she again tightened the grip on her sidearm, her head swiveling, eyes searching—
“What’s the matter?”
“He’s out there,” she said, moving down the hallway.
“Who’s out there?”
She pulled her cell and hit “9,” connecting her with FBI dispatch. “This is Agent Karen Vail with CIRG. Get an air unit over to 609 Herrington. Potential sighting of Dead Eyes suspect.” She dropped the phone into her pocket as she ran into the kitchen. Grabbed the knob, yanked open the door.
HE SAW HER, some woman cop, through the bedroom window. She was right there, thirty feet away in the darkness, admiring his artwork. Just what he needed, another critic.
But somehow she knew he was there. He darted through the bushes but stopped when he cut his hand on a sharp branch. He found a safe place to crouch while he licked the blood, to taste it, see what it was like.
Running his tongue across the open wound stung. He didn’t think it would hurt so much. At least he tasted better than that slut Sandra did. She was satisfying, but predictably bitter with a strong aftertaste. More iron, less copper. Maybe he was a bit anemic.
He swiveled around, staying behind some bushes. Watching for movement. That bitch cop was going to be coming after him, and he had to be ready.
ROBBY’S .40-CALIBER GLOCK was out in front of him now, his back against the left door frame. Vail was facing him, pressed against the opposite side of the doorway.
“How do you know? How do you know he’s here?”
“I saw something, when the lightning lit up the yard. I feel him.”
In the next half second, Vail was outside, the rain pouring, another rumble of thunder crawling across the horizon. She made her way through the side yard with reckless abandon, pushing away the thick, overgrown brush with her free forearm. Robby was five feet behind her, slipping on the thick weeds and bushes that hadn’t been pruned back in years.
“Karen, where the hell are you going?”
THERE SHE IS!
He knew it! Running into the yard—looking for him—but going in the wrong direction. He crouched lower. Thick, woody bushes and a dark suit . . . good cover. He was fairly safe, if only for a short time. But as any good prey who wants to survive knows, you need to get a close look at the hunter. Assess his strengths and weaknesses. After all, even though he knew there’d be no way they’d find him, he still had to be vigilant in making sure he didn’t give them too much. Tempting fate was not a smart thing to do.
He knew it! Running into the yard—looking for him—but going in the wrong direction. He crouched lower. Thick, woody bushes and a dark suit . . . good cover. He was fairly safe, if only for a short time. But as any good prey who wants to survive knows, you need to get a close look at the hunter. Assess his strengths and weaknesses. After all, even though he knew there’d be no way they’d find him, he still had to be vigilant in making sure he didn’t give them too much. Tempting fate was not a smart thing to do.
He put his head back and sniffed. Sucked in deeply. Smelled her scent riding the breeze that carried the rain droplets against his face. Light scent, perfume, with a hint of fear and anger. Yes, she was angry. Very angry.
“KAREN, SLOW DOWN. He could be setting a trap—”
“Shh!” Vail hissed into the darkness, which was illuminated by an obscure moon hiding behind engorged rain clouds. She cut left round a tree but slipped and went down hard. “Goddamnit!”
“You okay?” Robby’s voice was behind her, a dozen feet or so.
Another bolt of lightning cracked the sky and lit up the yard, which seemed to go on for a rolling acre of pines, firs, and wild shrubs. Robby was now at Vail’s side, his gaze bouncing around the flora. He grasped her by the right arm and lifted her up.
“He’s here,” she whispered.
“You sure?”
She nodded, though she knew Robby’s eyes were on the surrounding shrubs and bushes. Gun in his right hand, legs spread wide and bent slightly at the knees. He was ready, but the question was, ready for what?
“Where?” he asked.
She smelled something on the breeze. Sniffed, crinkled her nose. A scent she couldn’t readily identify . . . as well as an odor she knew too well:
Blood.
She looked around, wishing she could hit a switch and turn on the sun, if only for a minute. Get a good look around.
So damn close—
Blood.
She looked around, wishing she could hit a switch and turn on the sun, if only for a minute. Get a good look around.
So damn close—
“Karen?”
“I don’t know, I just feel him. Saw something in the yard when the lightning hit. I looked over, saw movement. He was watching us.”
“Like an arsonist coming back to watch his handiwork.”
Vail didn’t answer. She stood there, her left knee throbbing something fierce and bug bite itches prickling her legs. But the most irritating itch of all was the mental one: her need to know why the offender had waited there when he could’ve been long gone. She had tracked these killers for years from a distance. Glossy black-and-white and color photos in a file folder, interview forms, witness statements. It was all so removed. This was more visceral, urgent, and real-time.
Up close and personal.
twelve
H
e never had a subconscious desire to get caught, as some killers did.
e never had a subconscious desire to get caught, as some killers did.
He only got a glimpse of her, but she was good, this woman cop. He could tell. Just a bitch with a badge, but still . . . she was someone he couldn’t be sloppy around. She somehow knew he was there ... as if they shared some kind of sixth sense. The thought sickened him. He hated sharing anything with bitches, let alone his mind.
After that last bolt of lightning had lit up the sky, he took off, scampering through several untended yards. He then sat in his car for a few minutes and panted hard to slow his breathing just in case the police were lurking down the street.
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