He had attacked her in the alley just like the other women and there had been very little moon. Getting a good description had been too much to hope for.
“His hair was br-brown?” The words came out in a question. Jasmine squeezed her eyes shut as if clarifying her statement in her mind. When they opened again into their slits, she bobbed her head. “Yes. Brown.”
“Brown like yours?”
“Darker.”
“Like mine?” Cooper asked and held out some of his away from his head.
“Black.”
He grinned and dropped the hair back to his head. Yes, his hair was black. “This is good, Jasmine.” He noted the brown/black hair in his notebook along with the attacker’s apparent height. “Anything else? Was he heavy set? Thin? Do you remember what he wore or what he smelled like? Anything at all?”
“Bad breath.”
“Huh?”
Jasmine attempted to lift her arm, but the IV tubes prevented it. He saw frustration crease her forehead in a frown. “He had bad breath.”
Just like the guy who attacked Janette.
“Left handed.”
“He was left handed? How do you know that?”
Cooper looked at her body, observed the contusions and where the majority of them were located. There were so many bruises and cuts it was difficult to tell if the attacker had been left or right handed.
“H-he…” She swallowed. “He reached for h-his…with his left hand.”
His eyes grew wide as understanding struck. “The man reached for his dick with his left hand?”
Jasmine’s eyelids slid closed and she bobbed her head. “Felt him brush inside thigh.” She managed to run her hand up the blanket to her left thigh to indicate where.
Cooper stared at the white blanket and thought about his own actions. It would be natural instinct for a man to grab his pecker with his dominant hand and aim for the Promised Land.
He laid his hand on top of her hand that had slid back down to rest on the bed and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You’re a genius, Jasmine.” Her eyelids fluttered. Her way of smiling since the lips wouldn’t work yet.
He returned the grin and released her hand. “Have you ever used an online dating service?”
Jasmine’s eyelids fluttered then opened in a wide-eyed gaze. “Yes. Wh-why?”
“Is the name Love Online?”
The heart monitor on the other side of the bed started beeping faster, but Jasmine’s head bobbed up and down in ascent.
“Calm down,” he said, trying to reassure Jasmine. “Did you ever date a guy named Bob? Bob Richter?”
Jasmine’s eyes widened and the heart monitor started tripping in overtime. “Yes,” she slurred. “Did he?”
“I don’t know. Relax,” he said in a soothing voice, touching her hand. “If it is him, I’ll catch him. Can you remember anything else?”
Jasmine shook her head and when the strands of hair landed in her face this time Cooper didn’t hesitate. He brushed them aside. “I’ll get a nurse and see if they can’t clean up your hair a little more. You’ve been a big help. I can’t thank you enough.”
“Catch him.”
“That’s the plan.” He stepped back, tucking the notebook and pen into his back pocket. “You rest and get well.” He tugged his wallet from his other back pocket, opened it up, slipped out a card, and slid it under Jasmine’s resting hand. “You call this woman when you are ready. She will help you get better, help you heal.”
He took another card from his wallet and slid that one along with the other. “If you think of anything or need anything, please give me a call.” He shoved the wallet back into his pocket and pivoted on his heel, moving toward the door.
“Coop.”
Her weak voice caught him just before he opened the door. He looked back. “Yes?”
“He said…” She licked her lips and swallowed. “He said, ‘Nobody rejects me.’”
Cooper’s hand fell away from the handle. He turned his full attention back to the prone woman. “Did you reject him?” Cooper shook his head. “I thought you had never seen him before?”
“I didn’t.”
“You didn’t reject him tonight?”
“Never had chance. He came from behind.”
He nodded.
“Did you reject Bob Richter?”
“Yes,” she gasped as a tear trailed down her cheek.
His blood pumped fiercely in his veins, and his hands fisted as something in him came alive. Could it be that simple? Was Bob attacking the women who rejected him? Bloody hell!
THIRTY-SEVEN
After leaving the hospital, Cooper got into his car and headed out of the parking lot. He wondered if he had gotten any nibbles on his online dating service profile. Had Bob taken the bait? With the web woven, it was just a matter of time. Time he did not have.
He pressed his foot to the gas pedal and sped his way home. He would have preferred to be going to Jane’s and crawling in bed with her, but it was better this way. He had to get the Street Corner Rapist case closed before another woman was attacked or lost her life.
Parking, he hoofed it up the few steps to his porch and let himself in the door. Without pausing to take off his jacket, Coop flopped onto the sofa and pulled out the laptop he had set up for this little phishing expedition. A few minutes after that, he entered his username and password for Love Online. Once he logged onto the website, he went to see if he had any invitations to meet.
It was an interesting process, he mused. First, you fill out a gigantic questionnaire about who you are, who you want, and if someone notices and thinks you seem interesting or might be a match they send you an invitation to get to know them better. That was code for I get to send you more questions to see if you are lying. After the questionnaire is successful then you can move to the next level of emailing each other. Then came the actual date.
He rubbed at his tired eyes as he read down the list of men interested in his profile as CiCi. He couldn’t very well post a picture of himself so he surfed the web and had located a picture of a brunette, and borrowed it for his profile image. Apparently, the image had worked. He had six invitations to meet. None of which were Bob.
“Shit!” Cooper jolted to his feet. He went into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and grabbed a Coke. Popping the top, he took a long swallow before returning to his spot on the couch. He sifted through the six invitations and responded to all of them. He did not think any of the six men were the Street Corner Rapist, but better to play the odds.
As he finished the last questionnaire, another invitation came in. He glanced at the name on the invitation and almost dropped his soda. “Bob.” Cooper smiled.
He clicked on the questionnaire and was not surprised to see the same exact questions he had used on the other women, his victims. He smiled to himself as he answered them to mirror Jane’s responses then sent it back.
Not less than five minutes later, Bob sent a message asking CiCi if she would like to exchange emails. Coop replied yes and sent the approval. As anticipated, Bob sent an email message that resembled ones he had sent Lucy and Janette.
Bob was glad to meet someone who liked to spend their time doing some of the same things he did. He wanted to know if CiCi would be interested in going out for a nice dinner. He would be happy to meet her or pick her up, whichever was more comfortable.
“Aren’t you Mr. Nice Guy,” Cooper sniped as he typed in his reply. “Yes, I would love to meet you. Dinner sounds like a nice idea. Is there someplace you recommend?” he said in a high-pitched, feminine voice. Or at least his impression of a female voice.
A couple of minutes later, Bob responded. “How about The Common Man tomorrow evening at seven?”
“Sounds like a date, but would you mind if we meet at eight?” he typed back and hit Send.
“That will be fine,” Bob replied. “I look forward to meeting you in person.”
Cooper let out a long sigh, leaned back against the cushi
ons, and drained the rest of the Coke. “There goes the hook.”
Just then, the little ding of the computer indicated a new mail had arrived. He sat up, double-clicked on the email, and opened the message. Inside was a link to an electronic greeting card.
A slow grin slid across his lips as he clicked the link and waited. “That makes it hook and line. Very soon sinker.” Yes, very soon he would sink Bob AKA the Street Corner Rapist.
All he had to do now was to let Bob know where he could find him before their date. And since he was pretty certain that the little e-card had just installed the Loverspy malware, all he had to do was leave a trail on his computer.
Having left the breadcrumbs, all he had to do now was wait. Getting to his feet, he paced the small living room. He had too much energy to go to bed and sleep. It was the adrenaline rush before a takedown. The knowledge that his skills had set the trap and very soon, the target would be snared was energizing. He had been like this in the FBI too. The hours before going in and capturing a child smuggler, or members of a child pornography ring had been spent pacing floors, talking on email or in chat rooms with the perpetrators, and trying to keep a clear mind. It was not for sleeping. Blood pumped through his veins as if racecars on a speedway. His mind dashed through various scenarios, various outcomes. All of them ended the same, with him taking the woman-beating killer down.
Cooper paused in the middle of the wood floor and checked his watch. He couldn’t do this all night. He didn’t have to. Fumbling in his jacket pocket that he still wore, he found his car keys and headed out the door. He had a much better idea of how to spend the night.
* * * *
The shrill sound of the smoke detectors startled Jane awake. She jumped up off the bed, dumping the notebook and pen to the floor with a clatter. She sprinted down the hallway and looked around in the other bedrooms. She didn’t see any smoke. Frantic, she tore down the stairs, her heart racing in her chest. She ran from room to room in search of the source.
“Where is the fire?”
The piercing noise of the detectors made her more frenzied when she couldn’t locate the fire. She tugged on her hair and tried to think. “Where?”
She just had doors installed in the basement she was finishing. They were louvered doors so there should be airflow, but maybe there wasn’t enough for the furnace and water heater. The thought of a gas explosion sent Jane flying down the stairs leading to the basement.
“Smoke.”
Smoke filled the upper portion of her basement near the ceiling, but she couldn’t find a fire. With a sense of urgency she had never experienced, she jerked open every door in the basement seeking the cause of the blaring alarms. “Damn!” She paused, her lungs fighting for air, her hand on her forehead and concentrated.
“Where is the smoke coming from?”
Jane saw black on her new, white ceiling tiles near the door. Smoke billowed between the door and the frame that led from the garage. Why would the garage be on fire?
She jerked on the doorknob and it didn’t budge. “Shit!” It was locked. Her hands wouldn’t work. She kept missing twisting the lock. Finally, she managed to get it. She turned the knob and yanked the door open.
She gasped when she slammed into a gray wall of smoke and sucked in the caustic air. She couldn’t see. Nothing happened when she flipped up the light switch. The lights must not be working. With her hand covering her mouth and nose, Jane reached around the corner and hit the garage door buttons. One of the doors shot up and that was when she heard the blaze. She still couldn’t see it, but the crackling sound was unmistakable.
Spinning around, she ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time in search of her cell phone. It was all the way back upstairs. Her bare feet slapped against the wood floors. Jane reached the bedroom, snatched the phone from its charger and started back down the stairs, punching the numbers as she went.
She threw the sliding door of her dining room open, frigid air smacking her in the face, and ran down the deck to the yard as she screamed into the phone, “Fire! The house is on fire!”
“What—”
“Fire! The house is on fire!” She heard the sound of a click and then the phone was dead, but she didn’t care, she had to get the fire out.
Jane sprinted across the yard, the cold grass pricking the souls of her feet. She stumbled on the flagstone walkway, and yelped when her foot came down on a sharp rock. She rounded the corner. And stopped. Seven or eight-foot flames were licking the ceiling of the garage. Her mind flew to the flammable material stored in the garage, the yard equipment that ran on gasoline. Fear punched her heart against her ribs. Ignoring the burning in her lungs, she ran across the garage to hit the opener again. A loud whoosh roared in the small space when the other garage door opened.
As she searched for something to put out the fire, she tossed aside the phone she still clutched in her hand. “How do you put out a fire in the garage?” Baking soda? Smother it with a blanket?
Harried and scared witless, Jane shoved her hair out of her face. That was when she saw the fire eating its way toward her basement and devouring anything in its path. The flames engulfed the handle of the push lawn mower. Her breathing grew short and frantic. The place would explode. All it had to do was hit the gas tank and then it would catch the snow blower and the riding lawn mower and the three gas cans.
She dashed across the cement floor, wrapped her hand around the handle of the mower and pulled with all her strength. She had to get the mower out. She turned back to the fire and saw a piece of wood. She jerked that out and tossed it onto the driveway along with the mower.
It was never going to stop. How did she stop it?
“Jane!” Someone shouted her name. “Jane!”
Cooper came out of the dark, his face a mask of fear. “Hose! Where is it?”
Unable to speak, Jane pointed with a shaky hand in the direction of the yard. Five seconds later Cooper held a hose in his hands with water pouring out of it.
“Get out of the way!”
Jane moved. More containers filled with chemicals laid in close proximity to the flames. She reached for them. Before she could grab them, she felt a vise around her waist and she was hoisted off her feet. Cooper hauled her from the garage to the yard and planted her there.
“Don’t move,” he demanded.
She took a step forward. “But—”
“Jane.” He lifted a finger to silence her. “Don’t move a muscle.”
Jane huffed and coughed as Cooper turned his back, stalked to the fire and aimed the hose at the flames. She paced back and forth, raking her fingers through her hair, and watching in case Cooper needed her help.
“What happened? What caused the fire?” She murmured the questions to herself, inching her way toward the garage. It was her garage. She had every right to put out the fire, to help. Who was Cooper to manhandle her and boss her around?
White smoke billowed up into the night sky as sirens wailed in the distance. Oh, thank goodness, she thought, clutching a hand to her chest. The flames disappeared. Standing in the ashes, stood the one man who frightened her more than the fire. The man who saved her house. Maybe her life.
Unable to speak, she stared at the man—the cop—she reminded herself, then back at the ashes of her garage door and whatever burned up on the floor. The black outline on the cement drew her attention, drew her closer.
Head bent, Jane wrapped her arms around herself, willed the chill out of her bones, and studied the dark mass. “What is it?”
“That was going to be my question.”
Jane’s head jerked around, shot Cooper a narrow-eyed glare, because yes, at that point he was all cop, but didn’t answer because firefighters approached, coming from three—no, four engines, a rescue squad. The fire chief’s car pulled onto her dead end street followed by two police cars.
“Great,” she muttered. Just what she needed—more men with badges.
A few minutes later, the place was swarming with
firefighters trampling through her house. She never felt so invaded and vulnerable in her life. Shivering, leaning against her car, Jane bent and picked up the hose, running it across her hand for the umpteenth time. Her fingers were a mix of red and purple from the cold and burn.
Cooper came out of the garage. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.” Jane tucked her hand beneath her opposite arm.
“Let me see.” He held out his hand as if she was a child, and he wanted her to spit her gum out into the palm. She wished she had some gum.
“Jane.” His jaw muscles flexed when he used that warning tone. Part of her wanted to laugh. She was a grown woman after all. She didn’t need a keeper, or a cop.
While she contemplated how to get rid of Cooper, he moved in, snatched her arm, and with a gentleness she hadn’t expected, held her wrist tight enough to tug it out from its hiding place, and cupped her hand in his. The expletives that crossed his lips shocked and intrigued her. She had never heard such creative use of swear words.
“Get an EMT over here,” he shouted to no one and every one.
“I’m fine, Cooper. Let them do their jobs.” She attempted to pull her hand free, but it was like playing tug of war with a tiger. There was no chance of winning.
“This is their job. Why didn’t you say anything? Fool. Fool woman. I thought you were smarter than that.”
Was that an insult? “Hey,” she started to protest when a paramedic dressed in a navy blue uniform approached, took one look at her palm, and gave a low whistle.
“Come with me,” he ordered in a sweet voice. He turned with her hand in his and she had no choice but to trail after him.
“Ouch!” she whined after two steps when her feet met sharp gravel.
Before she knew what was happening, a pair of strong arms swept her up and deposited her on a cushioned bench seat inside the ambulance.
“You.” Cooper aimed a finger at her face. “Don’t move an inch. Do what…” He glanced at the man’s embroidered name badge. “Do what Derek says and I’ll be back for you in a few minutes.”
“I’ve got some gel that will take the sting out of that ma’am.”
Phish NET Stalkings Page 28