Killer Blonde

by Allan Evans

  Cade looked between the pair. “You both are jumping to conclusions. I’m simply offering a way to communicate with the killer and point him in the direction we want him to follow. Look, the killer has dramatically changed course with this call. Now, it’s not just about this asshole killing another woman, he’s challenging me. Saying I’m not smart enough to catch him.”

  “Don’t you see you’re playing his game now? He’s sucked you into his twisted game.”

  “Exactly. That’s his game. A game he’s played before. Chicago had a series of killings several years back.”

  “Tall blonde victims?” Rejene asked.

  “No, these were all different body types, with different hair colors. But a pattern was there. All were waitresses working in downtown Chicago. According to my BCA friend Grace, serial killers are wired to create patterns. Her point was, each series of killings may not follow the same pattern. Yes, there’ll be similarities such as killing close up—you won’t find these guys killing with a gun, for instance—but the need to always follow a pattern will be there.” Cade was on his feet pacing as he talked.

  “This killer in Chicago ended his run of six murders by breaking his pattern. His last victim was a man, a man who happened to be the lead detective on the case. Shane Martinson had received a ton of media attention for solving a famous case the year before the Chicago killing began.”

  Rejene nodded. “I remember the name. He found a terrorism ring operating out of Chicago. Took them down pretty much single-handedly.”

  “That was him. The case made national news. So, the interesting part is how this famous detective was killed. Martinson was found eviscerated on the hood of his car, his shield in his mouth. After his death, the killings stopped—at least in Chicago.”

  Rejene looked concerned. “I may not be the investigator that you two are, but I can recognize a pattern when I see one.” She looked at Cade. “You believe our killer—the same one from Chicago—has an ulterior motive to establishing such an obvious pattern with these blonde women?”

  Cade nodded.

  Rejene continued. “And he purposely killed on the state highways so the case would end up in your hands?”

  Cade nodded.

  “And here’s the thing: when the case was taken away from you,” Rob said, “the killer made damn sure your replacement was decommissioned.”

  Rejene nodded. “And now that the case is back in your hands, he reaches out to you. He taunts you, says he’s going to kill again and challenges you to stop him.”

  Cade smiled a grim smile. “That about covers it. Though I did learn a little something about our killer when I was in Chicago.”

  “What’s that?” Rejene asked.

  “After several killings, he’d made a play for a woman, but she got away. But, get this: the woman was able to give a rough physical description.”

  “What did you find out?” Rejene was all in, and moved closer.

  “The witness said he looked rigid, like he was military. She said he had dark hair, dark complexion and was several inches shorter than me. And he had to be strong. He held down an extremely fit Martinson and forced him to watch the knife do its work, forced him to witness his own death.”

  “As I said, I’m no detective, but it’s obvious we have a dangerous situation. He’s strong and exceptionally intelligent—he outsmarted Chicago’s top detective after all—and he’s killing women so he can play cat and mouse with our top investigator. I don’t like it. At all.” Rejene shook her head.

  “Neither do I. But as long as I know his goal, I’m miles ahead,” Cade said. “And boss, don’t be worried, you’d make a fine detective.”

  “That’s not what I’m worried about. I just don’t want to find out my lead investigator was forced to eat his shield while being butchered on the hood of a Patrol vehicle.”

  “I’m right there with you,” Cade said. “Let’s bury this guy. Enough is enough.”

  Cade watched Reynolds walk toward him across the television station’s busy lobby. She wore a light green silk blouse, black skirt and stilettos. Every eye in the place followed her as she gracefully strode toward Cade. Elegant and sexy, Reynolds quietly commanded attention wherever she went. There’s a saying that suddenly made sense to Cade: The whisper of a pretty girl can be heard further than the roar of a lion.

  She embraced him firmly, her perfume washing over him. “Let’s go down to the cafeteria. I’ll treat you to one of our warm cinnamon rolls. We can talk quietly there.”

  Cade followed her to the elevator, trying not to stare. Reynolds truly was an exceptional beauty. He gave her a grin as they stepped into the elevator. Several conservative-looking women in their forties were already in the elevator. They gave Cade and Reynolds a dismissive glance and turned back to watch the indicator lights. They all rode in silence as the car went down to the basement and the chime dinged signaling their arrival. Catching Reynolds’ eye, Cade said, “If the door opens and it’s all zombies out there, let’s team up.”

  She was still laughing as they got to the cafeteria counter. Reynolds ordered Cade his cinnamon roll and a couple of hot chocolates and grabbed a secluded table. “So, what’s up? You said it was important,” Cade asked.

  Reynolds nodded toward Cade’s plate. “Try the cinnamon roll while it’s still warm.”

  Cade shrugged. His mother told him to never argue with a woman. He picked up his fork.

  “I received another call from my source this morning,” Reynolds began.

  “Amazing,” Cade exclaimed.

  “What?” Reynolds looked confused.

  “This is the best cinnamon roll I’ve ever had.”

  Reynolds gave him a shake of her head. She was smiling though.

  “As I was saying, my source called this morning.” Reynolds pulled out her cell and set it on the table. She navigated to an app, pushed a button and leaned back.

  A voice said, “He’s stalking a woman right now. This man, this killer, has picked out his next victim. It won’t be long now.”

  “Do you have him under surveillance?” This was Reynolds now.

  There was a pause. Cade held Reynolds’ eyes.

  “Are you waiting for him to incriminate himself?” Reynolds again.

  There was another pause. Then the man spoke. “He’s smart, this one. I’d imagine his IQ is off the charts, so we need to watch and wait, hoping for a lucky break. It may be that plain old dumb luck could be the only way to catch him.”

  “It sounds like you respect him.” Reynolds’ voice.

  “When you’re involved in a game of cat and mouse—and you’re the mouse—the only intelligent course is to respect your opponent. Otherwise, you end up dead. We can’t underestimate his cunning.” Cade listened intently as the man’s voice grew louder.

  “What can you tell me about the killer’s description? Is he actually deformed like they say?” Reynolds asked on the recording.

  “What? I can’t discuss specifics with you on an ongoing investigation—especially one of this magnitude. But I can tell you the killer is not deformed. In any way.” There was a click and the recording stopped.

  “So, what do you think?” Reynolds asked as she sipped her cocoa.

  Cade leaned back and ran his fingers through his hair. “You might already know this, or at least suspect it: Your source is not a cop. He’s the killer.”

  “Holy shit! I was right,” Reynolds said. And not quietly, as she gained the attention of the entire room. Sheepishly holding up a hand, Reynolds glanced around and said, “Sorry, my bad.”

  She turned back to Cade and leaned in conspiratorially. “What makes you think so?”

  “I received a call from the killer today and it was the same voice as your recording. Same guy. He wanted to let me know he would be killing again soon. And he dared me to stop him.”

  She set down her cup. “The more he talked, the more he didn’t feel like a cop anymore. Cops take their cases personally when people are getting mu
rdered. You don’t refer to a butcher of women with such reverence. That’s why I thought he might be the killer instead of a cop.”

  “So, what was that part about the killer being deformed?” Cade asked. “That never came from us.” He sipped his hot chocolate.

  “I told you, he was pissing me off.”

  Cade laughed. “You were messing with him there, weren’t you? A dangerous game. Just don’t do it again. I much prefer you in one piece.”

  Reynolds gave him a coy look. “You say the sweetest things.” She looked thoughtful for a long moment. “He obviously has a high opinion of his intelligence,” Reynolds said. “I once had a colleague who’d gone to Harvard. Every chance he got, he’d mention it. It was the same with this guy, he kept referring to his IQ and cunning. It reminded me of the Harvard guy, and it annoyed me.”

  Cade smiled. “I can see that.”

  “Why do you think the killer contacted me in the first place? It made sense when it was a cop wanting to get the story out there to warn the public. But a killer usually tries to hide their crimes to limit exposure and the chances they’ll be caught.”

  Cade nodded. “I’ve been thinking about that. This killer has established a remarkably obvious pattern. Even though patterns are one of the defining characteristics of a serial killer, our killer has established a pattern more obvious than most. He wants this pattern to be recognized.”

  “But, why?”

  “This killer has a game he plays. He sets up an obvious pattern to draw in a specific investigator—one who’s had high-profile success—and plays cat and mouse with him. He wins this game by outwitting the investigator and making a public execution of him. He contacted you because he wanted you to publicize the killings to draw me into his game.” Cade studied Reynolds for a long moment. “But there’s another likely reason you were contacted.”

  Reynolds looked impatient. “What’s that?”

  “As I said in Goodwin’s press conference, you match his victim profile perfectly.” Cade pointed to an outstretched finger. “One, you’re tall.”

  “I’m five foot seven.”

  “In heels, you’re tall. And two, you are blonde. Three, you are attractive. Remarkably attractive, in fact.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Serial killer profilers believe victims are selected based on certain physical or personal characteristics that reflect their ideal victim. Perhaps this ideal victim represents someone who wronged them, someone who traumatically affected them or maybe they represent the killer’s mother—you know how many people have mother issues.”

  Reynolds rolled her eyes.

  “Either consciously or subconsciously, the killer is drawn to you because you’re a match with his ideal victim this time around.”

  Reynolds leaned back and tucked a strand of hair behind an ear. “Am I in danger?”

  “Yes, you are. You haven’t endeared yourself to the killer with your deformity question. And the killer told us he’s watching his next victim. For sure he’s watching you on his television.”

  Reynolds smiled. “I’ve always said the more viewers the better. Just so he keeps his distance.”

  Cade put his hand on hers. “We will watch over you. There will be a team keeping you under observation. Of course, I’d feel better if I were the one watching you.”

  Holding his eyes, Reynolds nodded. “Stay with me tonight.”

  “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. I’ll pick you up after your broadcast. And no mentioning the killer’s deformity. Please.”

  Cade saw the fear in her eyes as she nodded in agreement.

  “You’re not going to believe what that asshole did,” Cade announced as entered the community room at Caribou. Rob turned around at the sound of Cade’s voice, allowing Cade to see Haily the barista seated across from him. “Oh shit,” he said reflexively, “I didn’t realize you have company. Sorry about the language.”

  “You kiss your television anchor girlfriend with that mouth?” Haily asked. The teen had a large grin on her face, clearly enjoying herself.

  Cade turned on Rob, who simply held up his hands. “Haily has decided our case is more important than working, so she’s here helping. A lot. And your name may have come up in conversation. Anyway, she’s working on how the victims were targeted, looking for correlations. She’s got a pet theory it might be through Facebook. She said our victims were too old for other social media like Twitter and Tumbling.”

  “Tumblr,” she corrected.

  “Tumblr. Got it. And she’s getting me free coffee. I’m on my fourth cup. But I’m sure you can’t tell.” Rob’s eyes were wide and he looked like an ADHD kid on sugar cereal. Cade had to laugh.

  “Can’t tell at all.”

  “Didn’t think so,” he said. “Haily has found Facebook accounts for each and every one of the victims, including Ellie Winters. Do you know if Reynolds has one?”

  Cade shook his head. “She doesn’t. I’m not sure if that puts her behind or ahead of the curve, technology-wise.”

  Haily nodded. “Ahead, definitely ahead. Facebook is mainly for old people now.”

  Rob waved his hand. “Hang on, I have a Facebook page. And I’m only thirty-three years old.”

  Haily nodded again. “My point has been made. Thank you.”

  Rob covered his eyes with his hands. “Oh Haily, where is the love? Thirty-three is not old.”

  “It is if you’re seventeen,” Cade said. “Now sit down before you fall and break a hip, old man.” He laughed as Rob held up a finger.

  “Have you found the victims have common friends or associations? Maybe they’re in the same group.”

  “Working on that now,” Haily said.

  Cade pulled up a chair and turned it around to face Haily. “I’m not convinced you could target these women just by stalking them through Facebook. It’s not like you can search Facebook using tall, knockout blondes as a search term. Wouldn’t you already have to know someone’s name to find them?”

  Haily shook her head. She leaned in. “The killer could be trolling through his friends, looking at their friends, and then reaching further out to their friends.”

  “I don’t know,” Cade said. “You’re telling me our killer spends most of his waking time trolling on Facebook? Our profile puts the killer as extremely strong, extremely dangerous, and possibly ex-military. A man of action. Most people I come across who spend hours upon hours on Facebook look like they spend hours sitting in front of the computer. They’re overweight, soft, and squishy. No way they are capable of holding a strong police officer down so he could witness his own murder.”

  “I see what you mean,” Rob said. “But maybe the killer is using it to research his potential victims. See their interests, where they spend their time.”

  “Back to square one then,” Cade said. “He still has to find his victims somehow before researching them. Where does he find them?”

  Cade stood up, clearly frustrated. He put a hand on Haily’s shoulder. “Don’t stop what you’re doing, though. We may find commonalities between our victims through social media yet.” He turned to Rob. “I know you’re working on creating timelines for each victim. You may discover they all ate at the same place or frequented the same coffee shop,” Cade said. “Maybe each of the victims had their car serviced by the same mechanic, went to the same hairstylist, worked out at the same gym, or had their waxing done at the same salon.”

  Cade’s last comment had the desired effect: Rob raised an eyebrow, while Haily rolled her eyes at him. What was it about teenage girls that made them want to pass judgment on others with their eye rolls? What did it say about Cade that he received such immense satisfaction in provoking that very same reaction? Growing up with an older sister had honed his button-pushing skills to near-perfection. But no one should feel sympathy for his sister, as Abbey could always dish it out with clinical precision, offering up a well-timed comment designed to chop him off at the knees. Cade’s family had a way of putting
fun into dysfunctional.

  “So far, there’s surprisingly little overlap between victims,” Rob said as he moved over to where the victim’s pictures hung on the wall. “You’d think with all our victims being from the east side they would go to the same places, but no. Jennifer Allard, the first victim, and Stephanie Harding, the third victim, both had treatments at Vitality Med-Spa in Woodbury during the last year. However, there’s no record of Holly Janek or Ellie Winters ever going there. Otherwise, there are no commonalities other than driving and dying on the state highways. Our victims led contrasting lives. Jennifer Allard was an attorney and hobnobbed with an elite crowd. She was part of a roundtable discussion with the Governor a month before her death.

  “Holly Janek, Haily’s aunt, was an event planner. She was all over the metro area and western Wisconsin planning weddings, funerals and corporate events. Conservatively speaking, Holly must have interacted with thousands of people in her last two months.”

  Haily nodded as she listened. “Holly was always busy. She loved her work, though.”

  Rob continued. “Stephanie Harding was a sales rep for a medical device company. She’d been with them for a little over six months and visited clinics and hospitals all over Minnesota and Wisconsin. None of the other victims went to a hospital or clinic in their last several months.

  “Ellie Winters was the most high-profile of our victims. I’m guessing 75 percent of her listening audience knew exactly what she looked like. Her pictures are all over the radio station’s website. She was immensely popular. And our killer most likely focused on her based on her outspokenness about the killings. Winters’ comings and goings probably won’t lead us anywhere.”

  “We have to keep digging. There is a connection there between these women, and when we find it, we’ll find the killer.” Cade stood up. “But it better be soon. This bastard says he’s going to take another woman.”

  Rob shook his head. “I still can’t believe he called you. He’s treating this like a game.”

  “Oh, it gets worse,” Cade said. “Reynolds took a call from her cop source today. After listening to the recorded call, I know who her source is.”