“There’s no sign of Penny,” I said.
“He might not have had a chance to get hers up yet.”
Jack had a point. Penny’s murder only occurred a couple of days ago. But with Cheryl and Tara, he had drawn a number of each. All of them similar, yet some were lighter in tone while others were ominous.
A chill ran down my back. We had this son of a bitch. But being in his space, in his home, in a place where he celebrated what he did to these women, gave me an eerie feeling, as if there was a residue to the energy of the room.
I snapped on a rubber glove and opened the sketchbook. Inside was an incomplete drawing of Penny. To the left of the desk was a trash can, and it was overflowing with paper. I lifted one of the crumpled pages out of the bin and opened it to find a sketch of Penny’s face.
I showed the sketch to Jack. “He didn’t have time to finish drawing Penny at the scene. He’s trying to recreate it from memory. I’d also say he’s not happy with his work as evidenced by all the tossed attempts.”
“Do you notice the difference between Penny’s picture and the other victims’?” Jack asked.
I nodded. There was a sense of sereneness in the drawings of Cheryl and Tara. Penny’s expression appeared haunted. “It might be why he has Chantal Oaks and is acting again so soon.”
“Yes, he messed up with Penny. She wasn’t his ideal. She was an impulse. He’s trying to set things right.”
“It seems he improvised with the dress and ring, as we thought.”
With this discovery, I recalled the box I had spotted in the bathroom. I excused myself from Jack, went into the bathroom, and quickly returned to share my find with Jack. There would have been more than one bottle in here at some point, but I pulled the remaining one out.
I held it up. “How much do you want to bet this is an herbal-based drug that he uses to subdue his victims?”
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Chapter 63
HE MIXED THE DRINKS WITH HIS BACK TO CHANTAL. Hers was three parts whiskey, one part cola, with an added special touch. He added a splash of alcohol to his to support the illusion that he was consuming as much as she was. Even party girls didn’t relish drinking alone.
“I can’t believe we’re going to do this. You made it clear before that you like men.” Chantal was sitting at the head of the bed, her back against the wall. He turned from the dresser, where he had prepared her libation, and she was lifting her shirt over her head. “Do you like what you see, Cain?”
Her bra was a white, lacy number. Underwire and padding accentuated what genetics had given her, but he experienced no arousal. “Very nice.” He’d have to play along or she’d sense something was wrong. There wasn’t any flexibility for messing this up. As it was, he was far off his normal course. He extended the drink to her, but she took both hers and his and put them on the night table.
Shit!
He watched as she put down each one. He couldn’t afford to have her sip his, and he certainly couldn’t indulge in hers.
She tugged on his arms, drawing him to her. Her drink was forgotten as she closed her eyes and took his mouth. He watched her—her face pressed against his, her tongue prodding his. Maybe if he shut his eyes and imagined Andrew… But her mouth was delicate and soft. Feminine.
Focus.
He surrendered—for a few seconds—and then pulled back.
She was licking her lips. “Not bad at all. But you seem tense. Let’s have a couple drinks first and loosen you up.”
He tried to smile, unsure if he had succeeded, but her face lit with a grin so his expression must have shown. “Sounds like a great idea.”
He tried to reach the glasses first. He knew which one was whose, but she beat him to it. And she was extending hers to him.
“Actually, this one is yours,” he corrected. She gave him a quizzical look. “I made yours special, just for you.”
She straightened up. “Special? Just for me?”
Based on her tone of voice and the softness in her eyes, this was going to be too easy. She trusted him like the others had. Like Penny had… The thought of that poor girl, how it had transpired, made anger surge through him. But he would do right by her memory, and he would pave a corrected path moving forward. And it would start with Chantal.
She sipped her drink. “Whoa, you made this strong. Is that what’s so special about it?”
He shrugged, hands up in an admission of his guilt. “You got me.”
Now, it would just be a matter of time. By the time she finished her drink, if not well before, she would be as malleable as a rag doll. Then he could fix the errors in judgment he’d made with Penny. He could make Chantal eternally happy.
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Chapter 64
CHANTAL’S BUILDING WAS LOCKED AND Paige and Zach had to get ahold of the manager—a Roman Tucker—to let them into the building and her apartment.
“I haven’t seen her come home from work yet.” He twisted the key in the lock. “Do you think she’s all right?”
Paige hated being faced with such a direct question. She wanted to answer yes but experience taught her that reality didn’t always net a happy ending. In fact, many situations resulted in the stark opposite.
“Do you typically see her come and go?” Zach asked, deferring the man’s question.
Roman stuffed the key into a pocket. “All right, I’m not proud to admit this, but I watch over the people in this building. I’m a people-watcher.”
Zach raised an eyebrow. “So you spy on your tenants?”
He winced. “Put that way, it’s not so nice.”
Paige wasn’t going to state her opinion, but she agreed with Roman. But whether it was nice or not, it seemed to describe his leisure activity well enough.
“Anyway, have a look around.” Roman stepped to the side, away from Chantal’s door.
Paige had the feeling Roman was right: Chantal wasn’t here. She hoped Brandon and Jack were having better luck.
Looking around here might give them insight into why Cain had chosen her and where he may have taken her, though. She prayed they’d find her alive.
Paige and Zach gloved up and then entered the apartment.
“FBI,” Paige shouted ahead of them.
The place opened to a foyer wall. They could go left for the galley kitchen or to the right for the living room. Paige chose right. Zach followed.
On the end tables were framed photos of Chantal with different men. In every picture she held a drink and was dressed for a night on the town. The backgrounds appeared to be different bars.
Paige found it interesting a twenty-five-year-old, in a digital world, had printed photographs at all. These men were displayed throughout the space, clearly motivated by Chantal’s ego in a show of sexual prowess. Chantal wanted anyone who entered her apartment to witness her popularity with men.
Paige gestured to the photos. “She matches the profile of the other victims.”
“That she does,” Zach agreed. “She was obsessed with men and wasn’t ashamed of her preoccupation. She may even be proud of it.”
“I was thinking the same thing. Do you see more than one picture of the same man?”
“Not in this room.”
They continued walking through the apartment. Standing outside of the bathroom, Paige peeked her head through the door and let out a deep breath. “I’m glad she’s not in the tub.”
Next they entered Chantal’s bedroom. Another frame was on her nightstand. Chantal had taken red lipstick to the glass and drew a heart around the man’s face. She’d added the words HE’S MINE.
“All right, he’s familiar,” Zach said. “His picture was also on her TV stand.”
Paige opened a drawer and found a lined notebook. She flipped through it. “This looks like a diary.” She handed it to Zach
because—putting it mildly—he was a speed-reader.
He fanned through the pages, and less than a minute later he looked up. “A couple weeks ago, she was upset over a breakup with a guy named Drake.”
“That’s who the waitress thought Cain was.”
“Cain knew about this vulnerability. It’s what made Chantal a target”—he pointed to the photo on the nightstand—“given the fact that his picture is still here.”
“Not to mention all the lipstick.” Paige half smiled. “Did Chantal mention in her diary whether they were engaged?”
“There was a lot of talk about how she wanted him to propose, but he never did.”
“All right, well, now we know a little more about Chantal. Sadly, she’s exactly the type Cain targets.”
“Yeah, and, unfortunately, we have no idea where either of them is right now.” He held up his cell phone. “It’s a message from Jack. He and Brandon found indisputable proof that Cain is the killer, but there’s no sign of him or Chantal at his house.”
“What are his orders?”
“Well, they called in Crime Scene to process Cain’s house. They found an herbal-based drug, much like Rohypnol. It wouldn’t show up on toxicology tests.”
“So he did drug them before suffocating them. He made sure they were out first.” She hoped she had first shot at this bastard. And she meant that literally.
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Chapter 65
THERE WAS NO EXPLAINING WHY Cain would have kept the herbal drug in the bathroom while he locked up other damning evidence. But there was no explaining criminals, in general. Maybe he figured one crime was worse than another, and on some level, he would be right—at least in the eyes of the law. People might argue murder topped the scale, but victims of rape lived with the assault for the rest of their lives. On the flip side, there was the possibility of healing and recovery. Those whose light was extinguished had no final say.
While Crime Scene scoured Cain’s home, Jack and I headed to talk to Andrew West, Cain’s lover from Ideal Partner. He had Paige and Zach going to talk to the waitress at the Grand Restaurant to see if they could get a last name for Drake. From those conversations, we were hoping to figure out where Cain might have taken Chantal.
Killers who had become unhinged like Cain had, who were running on fumes and acting merely because, made mistakes. They often settled for comfortable and familiar. And it had to be somewhere with a tub—we knew at least that much. It was quite probable Cain had taken Chantal to a hotel or motel where he had stayed before. But what’s to say Chantal didn’t make the choice instead?
The waitress had told Nadia that she’d thought Cain was Chantal’s boyfriend because she’d hugged and kissed him on sight. We were operating under the impression she wasn’t coerced to go with him, so it was highly possible she had some say in where they’d gone.
Jack tore around the bends in the road, and I held on to the grab bar for dear life. The thing helping to calm me down was thinking about the case. I understood the rush; we were running out of time.
Cain was acting out of character and willing to play a ruse to advance things along. Was it about making Chantal happy or something else? His luring Chantal might have more to do with setting the past right than with Chantal specifically. Of course, it couldn’t be disregarded that Chantal fit the profile. What Paige and Zach had found at her apartment confirmed she was obsessed and heartbroken over this Drake guy.
When we got to Andrew’s house, Jack knocked, hard. A black man answered, and Jack and I flashed our badges.
“Are you Andrew West?” Jack asked.
“Yes.”
“We need to ask you about your boyfriend, Cain Boynton.”
“Boyfriend? We hooked up once or twice.” He looked at Jack, then me. “You’re with the FBI? What’s this about?”
“Where did you hook up?” I asked, ignoring his question.
“Bateman’s Motel.”
“Anywhere else?”
Andrew shook his head.
“How far away is it from here?” I asked.
“Twenty-five minutes.”
Immediately, our backs were to him and we were in a jog headed for the car.
“Why do you want to know?” he called out.
With his inquiry once again ignored, he slammed the door.
I dialed Detective Powers while Jack nearly rear-ended a Honda, shaved off the nose of a Chev, and ran a yellow to red. Again, I was happy to be preoccupied.
I told Powers to get over to the motel. He was five minutes out. Then I called Paige.
We’d finally caught a break.
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Chapter 66
THE BATEMAN MOTEL WAS RUN-DOWN, and I would’ve been surprised if the place met the state’s building codes. It was possible someone was paid to look the other way. It was a two-story structure with rooms that were accessed from outside. Taking a quick glance of the lot, there was no sign of Cain’s Volkswagen, but he could have parked down a side street.
The door chimed as Jack and I entered the lobby. Powers and Barber were in a heated argument with the man at the front desk.
The latter flailed his arms in the air. “Oh Lord, what the hell is going on? Are you looking for this Cain guy, too?”
Jack held up his cred pack. “Is he here?”
“I couldn’t tell you. Our customers pay cash.”
Basically the man ran a brothel, substituting prostitutes with rooms available for the adulterous to play out their fantasies and for the deviant to hide from law enforcement.
“There’s no sign of his car in the lot.” This came from Detective Barber.
“Hmm.” Jack rushed toward the door.
“Wait, where are you going?” There was panic in the motel employee’s voice.
Jack stopped and turned. “We’re going to knock on every door.”
“No. No way. I can’t let you do that. I’ll lose business, and you can see I need all the help I can—”
“You don’t have a choice. If you try to stop us”—Jack bobbed his head toward Barber—“he’ll arrest you for interfering with an investigation.”
The man visibly swallowed. “Fine. Have at it.”
I caught him lifting a flask to his lips on my way out.
Twenty minutes later, our efforts were still unrewarded.
“He’s not here,” Powers said.
Jack dialed on his cell. I assumed it was either Paige or Zach.
“Tell us you have something,” Jack said.
WILMA, THE WAITRESS AT THE Grand Restaurant, didn’t know Drake’s last name, but one of the busboys did. With assistance from Nadia, they tracked Drake Sherman down at his job at a clothing store in the mall.
Drake was handsome with mysterious gray eyes, and he carried off the unshaven look quite well given the sharp angles of his face. The pictures in Chantal’s apartment hadn’t done him justice.
“We need to talk to you,” Paige said. She nodded toward the back of the store. “Somewhere private.”
A scowling woman, dressed in a business suit, crossed her arms and cocked her head. “Drake, what is this about?”
“I’m taking a break,” was all he said to her.
“You can’t take one now. You just got in.”
“Ma’am, we’re with the FBI, and we need to speak with him. It’s urgent,” Zach said.
“The FBI? What do you want with Drake?” The woman turned to her employee. “What have you done?”
“He hasn’t done anything, but we need to speak with him. Come on.” Paige coaxed Drake to go with her and Zach. She was surprised the manager stayed put behind the counter.
Once in the back room, Paige asked, “You used to date Chantal Oaks?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“I don’t know if that was her last name.” His eyes diverted for a few seconds. “I’m not the kind of guy who cares about last names. I don’t even care about first ones. A girl’s either hot or she’s not.”
And this was who Chantal had thought might be the one?
“All right.” Paige would have to go about this another way. She brought up Chantal’s photograph on her phone and extended it to Drake. “Does she look familiar?”
“Oh, yeah. She was a good lay but kind of crazy.”
She took a deep breath. “I need to know if there was anywhere specific you two would go to have sex.”
Drake smiled. “Yeah, we hooked up a few times at the Red River Motel.”
Zach was instantly on his cell phone, and Paige surmised he was searching for directions.
“Wow, you’re a fancy guy, Drake.” Zach flashed the image for Paige to see the dated motel, courtesy of Google Street View.
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Chapter 67
I DON’T THINK MY SISTER saw me at first, but I saw her. The smoky haze lingered behind her as she came into the bedroom from the attached bathroom. She cupped her hand over her mouth and tossed back whatever was there, then washed it down with a gulp of water. As she lowered the glass, she saw me and set it on a table next to her.
“Cain, what are you doing in here? You can’t be in here. Go.” She yanked on my arm, dragging me in the direction of the door. I dug in my heels, refusing to move.
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