by Luke Murphy
Charlene grimaced. “It’s not that. I don’t know. I’m just tired.”
“Late night?”
“More like early morning.”
“Ouch. There’s Advil in the glove box.”
Charlene opened it and pulled out the bottle, noticing an older, slightly crumpled picture at the bottom of the compartment. Charlene, knowing Darren still lived at home, didn’t want to embarrass him so she didn’t mention it.
She opened the bottle and shook a couple into her mouth, dry swallowing the capsules.
“Maybe once you see this guy, his place, your mind will change.”
“Maybe.”
She still had the printout package on Cooney and filtered through it. “I had the sense from this case that the killer had been abused by a female power figure in this life. But there is no mention of any females in Cooney’s life. Mother died of natural causes many years ago, he was never married and no mention of a current girlfriend or life partner. Sure he’s had previous relationships, but nothing long-term.”
“I think you’ve been watching too many Criminal Minds episodes. Not every killer is an archetype. But the FBI did mention that Cooney used to date a movie star.”
“So they say.” She pulled a paper from her jacket pocket and unfolded it. “That’s where I’ve seen Cooney’s name before.”
“Where?” Darren asked.
“My father’s notes. He had made a list of cops he thought could be possible suspects as the Celebrity Slayer. Cooney’s name is on it.”
“Can I see that?” Darren asked.
She handed him the paper and he placed it on the wheel, trying to read it as he steered. “Dr. Gardner is on here.”
“I know”
He gave it back. “Now do you believe it’s Cooney?”
“Maybe,” she repeated resolutely, but she was far from sure.
Charlene turned away from Darren, looking out the window and admiring the beautiful California scenery. She could see why Cooney had left the city for the countryside.
As they left the smog-infested city, bypassing West Hollywood, passing Runyon Canyon Park and Universal City and hitting the 101, they passed the small Californian countryside Charlene never got to see. It was very much Andy Griffith-Mayberry style, roadside farmland of everything she loved to eat from avocados to strawberries to garlic. When they veered off the main highway at Agoura Hills and left civilian life, that’s when the beauty of the scenery really emerged.
They had established a meet site about a mile and a half from Cooney’s mountain retreat. Darren pulled into the parking area behind the other vehicles, and Charlene exited the car before it had even come to a complete stop.
She wasn’t allowed near the huddled members, but she could at least get as close as possible to hear and see the plan.
She stood behind an opened car door, holding the neck of her jacket tight. She hadn’t been prepared for the bracingly cold wind that came off the ocean coastline as they moved closer to the mountains. The temperature had plummeted ten degrees since she’d left the office.
Through binoculars, Charlene inspected the cedar-shingled cabin. She didn’t have a feeling either way this time.
Was that the killer’s home? She wasn’t sure.
They had moved in closer, now about five hundred yards from the unmarked dirt road to the small, well-built cabin.
The Feds and Tactical team leaders stood together, sipping coffee from a thermos. This was a one shot deal, maybe their only shot. LAPD SWAT had joined forces with the FBI Tactical Unit.
She could hear two of the SWAT members approaching the car. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder. One was holding heat sensor binoculars and the other had a FLIR—Forward Looking Infrared Radar—attached to a tripod.
“We don’t see any signs of movement in the house.”
A chain link fence surrounded Cooney’s property, and SWAT had cut through it at multiple locations. They had a double perimeter set up around Cooney’s camp, and inner and outer circles in case he made a run for it. The only vehicle Cooney had registered was a 1999 navy blue Ford f150 with twin exhaust pipes, and it was parked in front of the cabin.
“Do you think he’s been tipped off?” the SWAT leader asked the Fed in charge.
“Never know. He still has some loyalty on the force. A lot of guys are still pissed off at how it all ended with him.”
The SWAT leader put his hand to his mouth. “Take your positions. Cooney has three guns registered. A Blaser R93 German Hunting Rifle, a pump-action Remington 870, and a 9X19 mm Walther P99 Handgun. But he’s a former cop, so he could be more heavily armed.”
Charlene watched SWAT fan out to form an arc, moving into position. If she hadn’t been looking for them, she would never have seen them camouflaged against the forest of trees and long grass. The Evasion and Search—E&S—tactics unit was ready to seize the cabin and take it over.
Charlene swept the binoculars over the house, a tingling sense of anticipation flooding her body. No movement. The wooden blinds on the first and second level were all closed.
She didn’t notice herself holding her breath when the order was given.
“Move in.”
Charlene scanned the remote area, watching the team moving in unison. She looked for any danger signs, anything out of place that could be considered a hazard. She kept her eyes trained on the cabin.
The unit, in combat crouches, crept towards the cabin. The division moved simultaneously, covering each other. The no-knock forced entry was all about timing and synchronization.
Half the team took the back of the building. They had the cabin surrounded. There was still no movement inside. The team was close now.
Then it was time.
Charlene gritted her teeth as they stormed the cabin. The front lock was quickly picked. The door was eased open, and still no sound from inside. She could feel her own adrenaline rush as members, one by one, slipped inside the cabin. Some of the unit went through the doors, others climbed through windows. There was SWAT on the ground, the roof, and inside the cabin. But still no shots were fired.
Charlene could hear the controlled chaos on the leader’s transmitter. Rooms were cleared, voices shrilled, but still no gun shots. An inordinate amount of time had passed, and Charlene considered the limitless possibilities.
Radio bursts punctuated the air as each room was cleared, and the final radio cackled with a voice saying, “Cabin’s clear. We’ve found a woman in the basement cellar.”
It was over in less than a minute.
“Should we call in the EMTs?” the AIC asked into his mic.
“Don’t bother. It’s too late for that.”
“Any ID?”
“Negative.”
“Cooney?”
“Negative.”
Everyone who had been waiting on the perimeter began to work their way towards the cabin. Charlene followed, anxious to see inside the lair of the Celebrity Slayer.
As she neared the hunt camp, Charlene’s attention was drawn to the surrounding woods. There was something on one of the trees.
She called out to a uniformed officer who was heading to the cabin from the outer circle, “I’m going to check out that tree.”
The officer turned and looked, and then turned back and shrugged. “Go for it.”
She stared at the tree as she walked towards it, a shiver creeping up her spine. Clearly carved on the side of the tree were the letters SC. Cooney had whittled his initials into the bark. The sharp, jagged shaped lettering chilled Charlene to the bone.
She was turning back towards the cabin when out of the corner of her eye she spotted another tree, with more carvings.
She moved further away from the group and headed into the thicker brush, where someone had spent a lot of time brushing trail and wearing it down. There were footprints, which could have come from anytime, and evidence of an all-terrain vehicle.
This tree had the initials CH. Who was CH? A friend, a lover, a victim? Charl
ene ran her fingers over the letters, feeling the scratchy, rough wood surface.
Further down the path there was another tree, with even more initials. This time it read DB. Charlene wondered how many trees had been stamped. She went to the third tree and stared at the letters. It would be almost impossible to know who DB was. She would have to cross-reference the celebrity slayer victims with the carvings.
Charlene searched the surroundings and didn’t notice any other carvings in the vicinity. She wasn’t sure just how far from the scene she was. She couldn’t see or hear any of the team.
It was eerily quiet. No animal noises, the sirens had faded, and there were no radio bursts. All she could hear was the rapid beat of her own pulse. The fine hairs on the back of her neck prickled.
“You’re losing it, Char,” she whispered.
As she turned to head back, Charlene felt a cool breeze blow down the back of her shirt, heard a soft thud behind her, and the ground around her feet vibrate.
She turned to find Cooney, hitting a three-point landing. He must have been in the tree. He was gripping a knife with a serrated blade. He sneered, homicidal rage on his face.
He was an imposing figure and looked nothing like the head shot she’d seen only hours earlier. He was broad-chested, his jaw covered by a thick red beard, and he was wild-eyed. A sheen of sweat peppered his face, and his tight T-shirt was pasted to his body.
As she was reaching for her gun, his strong bicep wrapped around her throat, blocking her air passage and lifting her off her feet.
She clawed and grasped at the camouflage-sleeve, scratching at his thick, hairy knuckles, drawing blood. She flailed her feet back and forth, kicking wildly, hoping to connect with a shin. Wrestling with all of her strength, she could feel her attacker’s grip loosen just before a sharp rap on her skull drained her fight.
“Nice to see you, Charlene,” his voice dripped contempt. It was the last thing she heard before the blackness surrounded her.
~ * ~
When she regained consciousness, she could feel herself moving, but knew she didn’t have the strength to move her limbs. Struggling to open her eyelids, Charlene barely made out the brushy trail as she was being fireman-carried, hands tied behind her back, through the forest. She fought to stay conscious, trying to count seconds in her head, replaying images in her mind of the recent events. The pressure mounted on her skull and the pain numbed her senses.
The sun had gone down, cooling her warm cheeks. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been out, or how far away from the camp she had gotten. It was a blur, a dream-like trance. The one thing she did know was that she wasn’t going down without a fight. It was now all about self-preservation.
She didn’t dare move suddenly or quickly change positions. She had to make her abductor believe she was still unconscious and not a threat.
Charlene tried to bend her body indiscernibly in a way that her hand could reach her ankle holster. It was getting there ever so slowly, and she thought that her movement hadn’t been noticed. She was just inches away now, the end of her fingertips slowly pulling up the bottom of her pant leg. She was there and grabbed for the weapon, but it was gone. Cooney must have already snared it.
She remembered her phone in her pocket, but reaching in that direction would surely be noticed.
Charlene shrank back into her original position, her heart and hope dropping in the process.
She felt her carrier’s pace slow and she sensed he was getting ready to stop. Before she had another thought, her body was flung violently onto the ground and then hauled up aggressively by the shoulders of her blazer.
Then she was pinned to a tree, feeling the sharp, rough bark against her back. She kept her eyes closed. She couldn’t see, but could feel the killer’s warm breath on her skin, his cigarette odor blowing in her nostrils.
The man spit, a snarl in his voice. “You can stop pretending, Detective. I know you’re awake, your breathing has changed.”
He grabbed her by the throat and squeezed, manipulating his thumb on her thyroid cartilage. When her eyes opened, she came face to face with a trained killer. Even behind the green and black camouflage face paint, there was no mistaking the eyes of Sean Cooney, the same man who had stared back at her from his picture in this morning’s meeting.
When Cooney looked into her eyes, seeing the fear that lay there, he smiled and brought the large hunting knife to her throat. The knife was already stained with blood.
She noticed his nostrils flare as he smelled the air.
“I love the smell of fear on a woman.”
His forehead was dotted with perspiration beads, and he licked his lips. He smelled like sweat, cigarettes, and cheap cologne.
“I wanted to kill you long ago but now I’m glad I didn’t. I’m going to have a little fun first. I’ve done a lot of hunting in these parts, bobcats, gray foxes, coyotes, and even mountain lions. But hell, Charlene Taylor, you’ll be my prize pig.” He ran his free hand up her side, squeezing her breast and massaging it roughly.
She closed her eyes, grimaced, and turned away. Then she felt his mouth on her neck, his tongue making a trail up her cheek. He pulled her hair hard, trying to turn her head to face him, but she fought it, the muscles and veins in her neck bulging. He was too strong to fend off for long minutes.
He twisted her head painfully, holding her jaw in one hand, squeezing her cheeks to pucker her lips. With her eyes still closed, she could feel his lips touch hers and hold them there, his tongue darting in and out.
So Charlene did the only thing she could think of. She felt around for his bottom lip and when she found it, she bit down as hard as she could. Clenching her teeth viciously, she shook her head back and forth like a wild animal until she could taste blood. Cooney let out a yelp and pulled away, leaving part of his bottom lip lodged between Charlene’s red-stained teeth. She opened her eyes to find a stream of blood leaking from Cooney’s gaping mouth.
“You bitch!” he stuttered, bloody spit flying from the open wound. “You’re going to pay for that.”
He stepped forward quickly and threw a sharp right fist that she didn’t have time to dodge. His callused knuckles struck her nose, and Charlene could hear cartilage crunch under the weight of the blow. Her eyes instinctively watered, blinding her.
“There,” he said and chuckled. “Now that face has some personality.”
He sheathed his knife and with strong hands, grabbed her by the shoulders, spinning her around and pressing her head into the bark-covered tree. He smashed her face into the rough wood. She could feel her skin scratch, the bark tearing into flesh and blood dripping a line down her neck. She could feel the broken bone in her nose move even further out of place as he applied more pressure.
She felt like screaming, but didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of hearing her pain. She knew guys like Cooney got off on that. So she swallowed her panic.
When he finally let go, she turned her head away, taking three quick, staggered breaths to reduce the pain, keep from vomiting, and avoid more involuntary tears. The fight was almost completely out of her now, her adrenaline gone, the exhaustion settling into her weary bones.
But the break from her nightmare was short lived when a thin, leather strap was wrapped around the back of her neck, pulling her tightly against the tree as Cooney fastened it at the back. He removed one handcuff, then pulling her angrily against the tree, refastened it, her arms now hugging the tree. Then a second cord was thrown around her waist and fastened as well.
He moved back around her. She could no longer see him, but could hear his footsteps snapping branches. She took some pleasure in hearing him breathing hard, the wind whistling through the hole in his bottom lip, knowing that she had put up a valiant fight and had at least made him work for this kill.
“Let’s have some fun,” he whispered into her ear. He pulled the iPhone out of her back pocket and rammed it three times against the tree, shattering it to pieces. “We’ll be here for a whil
e.”
Charlene tried to yell, wanted a scream to burst from her throat, but the strap was so tight around her that it almost cut off her air passage. She could feel her heart pounding against her rib cage.
Using the knife, he cut the back of her shirt down the middle and tore it from her upper body. Then he cut open her bra and snapped it off. The bark of the tree scratched at her breasts and torso. He unhooked her belt and pulled it out through the loops, then undid her pants and pulled them down to her ankles, her panties coming along with them. She was now fully naked, tied face-first to the tree.
He whistled. “Nice ass and tramp stamp. You’re the kind of girl I’ve been waiting for.” He spread her legs. “I’m going to have some fun with that. It’s just you and me now, Charlene. No more interference. Besides, I heard that you like it rough.”
Charlene swallowed hard, dread almost stealing her breath. She could feel beads of nervous sweat slip down the middle of her back. “Why me?” she asked in a voice that sounded like a child’s.
“You were handpicked.”
Charlene closed her eyes, the paralyzing pain heightening her senses. She heard his belt buckle dangle and metal zipper. When she felt his big hands grab her firmly by the hips, she bit her lip and said a silent prayer.
Her ears perked up, picking up something in the background and then she heard a pop.
Cooney released his grip.
“What…why?” She heard his voice, like a little boy, then a gurgling sound, as if someone was talking under water.
Another quick pop followed, echoing around her, and she heard a crumpled sound from behind. She couldn’t turn her head, but could no longer hear the whistling of Cooney’s breathing. Charlene’s chest heaved.
Footsteps behind startled her and she felt a soft cloth draped over her naked shoulders.
With her face turned and still strapped to the tree, Charlene peered down and saw a short, thin shadow of a man on the ground. The man walked behind the tree and finally appeared in Charlene’s line of site.
“You okay, Chip?”
Charlene was never so happy to see Darren. Then the lights went out again.