by Karen Rose
“He was practicing,” Davies commented, then pulled open the closet door and stopped. “Oh, my God. Thatcher.”
Steven pushed the drawer shut and came to look. And found the shrine to Jenna.
Friday, October 14, 6:15 P.M.
Josh took a step closer and Jenna noticed the blood on his hands. “Josh, what’s wrong? Are you hurt? Did your father or Rudy hurt you?”
And then he smiled. “No.” He lifted a brow and she knew something was different today. “Miss Marshall,” he added.
It was his eyes. Not blank. Not downcast. No sign of mortification. Sharper, somehow.
It took her a minute. A full minute. Then she gasped. “You. It was you in my apartment.”
“It was I,” he said silkily and pulled something white from his pocket. “I’d thought to do this relatively painlessly, but you have really left me with no choice.”
Jenna glanced from side to side, panicked, remembering the strength of the hands that held her down that night. The sound of the knife slicing into the mattress where she’d been sleeping just moments before. Then she realized Seth was not there and her heart stopped. Seth. The blood on his hands was Seth’s. “You monster,” she hissed, thinking fast about her options. Seth had the key to the car so she couldn’t get away, unless it was on foot. She needed to get help back to Seth. If he was still alive. Please, God, let him still be alive. Her only hope was to run.
Now.
She took off toward the main road at a sprint and didn’t look back. Then flew forward as something heavy hit her in the middle of her back. She hit the ground on all fours, a split second before she was pushed flat to the ground, his knee in her back. His hand came around to grab her chin, and her head was jerked back and she could hear his heavy breathing.
“Don’t make me run, Miss Marshall,” he said, his voice rough and . . . uncontrolled. It was different than the night in her apartment, because that night he’d had icy control. She could only hope she could use that fact to escape. To get help. Seth. Oh, God, Seth. Please hang on.
Then another face flashed in front of her eyes. Steven. I never got a chance to tell you I’m sorry, she thought just as Josh pressed something scratchy to her face and held her nose. She struggled, holding her breath until she could no longer, until her reflexes took over and she gulped a lungful of air through her mouth.
“That’s the way,” he said soothingly. “Ten, nine, eight,” she heard him counting. “Five, four . . .”
Then nothing.
Friday, October 14, 6:25 P.M.
Steven pulled the string on the lightbulb and his gut clenched. The closet door was covered with photos, some cut from the Roosevelt yearbook. But most were snapshots of Jenna. Close-ups, above the shoulder shots with her apartment in the background. His blood ran cold realizing Josh Lutz had been stalking Jenna, watching her through her patio door. He thought about the neat hole cut in the glass. Josh had stalked her through that glass door, then came through it to try to kill her.
“Sonofabitch,” he whispered.
Silently, Davies pushed back the clothing hanging in the closet to reveal more pictures.
“Lorraine, Samantha, Alev, and Kelly,” Steven murmured. Before and after. The after shots were taken at various angles. The photos of Alev showed Josh had experimented to get just the right layout of body parts before leading them to the clearing. “He’s developing his own pictures, just like Jenna said. I wonder where his darkroom is.”
“I wonder where he’s keeping his souvenirs. You know he’s kept something to remember his victims by,” Davies said, pulling the blanket from the bed and lifting the mattress up. “Hello,” he said. “What have we here?”
Pills, Steven saw. Hundreds of little pills. He held one up to the light. “Mellaril,” he said softly, then looked at Davies. “Pretty powerful antipsychotic. When taken consistently it can suppress cognitive function, sometimes down to the level of an eighty-five IQ. But somebody hasn’t been taking his meds. And I bet you somebody’s mother thought her boy was under control. But he isn’t. Maybe he was, but he sure as hell isn’t now.”
“That might explain why he took a sabbatical,” Davies mused. “If he was on the pills during the years between Seattle and here.”
“And this stash would certainly explain the fact that he’s started again. He stops taking his pills and acts like he’s still dull-witted to keep anyone from realizing he’s changed.”
“À la I, Claudius,” Davies said.
“But he must’ve gotten tired of pretending at some point,” Steven said. “He wanted Casey to know he identified with the killer in Crime and Punishment. Sandra!” he called.
Sandra appeared, wearing a generally disgusted look on her face. “I haven’t seen so much porn in one bedroom since my vice days,” she said. “Too bad we can’t arrest Rudy for that alone.”
“Take a number, Sandra. For now, bring up our mother-ofthe-year. I want to see the look on her face when she sees all her precious baby’s unswallowed meds.”
It was worth the wait. Mrs. Lutz’s face went white with shock, then flamed red with rage when she saw the piles of unconsumed medication.
“You thought you had him under control, didn’t you, Mrs. Lutz?” Steven asked smoothly. “Or do you prefer to be called Parker?”
“I am Mrs. Lutz,” she said rigidly. “And I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have no idea who those pills belong to.”
Steven lifted a brow. “And if we look hard, we won’t find a prescription on file?”
She pursed her lips and said nothing, which said quite enough.
Steven leaned close. “Where is your son, Mrs. Lutz? Where is Josh?”
She stiffened. “I don’t know.”
“Mmm. That’s a shame. Then you don’t know where he is to warn him we’re here, waiting for him? I really hope not, because I’d hate to have that happen, to spoil the surprise. You see, I want your boy behind bars and I really hate to be disappointed.”
She straightened her body imperiously. “My son has done nothing wrong.”
“Do you recognize these girls?” Davies asked softly, holding back the clothing hanging in the closet. “Maybe you’ve seen them on the news. Three are dead. Your son has pictures of their bodies, something we haven’t released. And I’ll bet we’ll find pictures of four Seattle girls as well.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again. “I’ll call my lawyer now.”
Steven threw her a look of contempt. “You just do that. He’ll need the time to prepare to defend your son against a death penalty sentence. Sandra, make sure Mrs. Lutz calls only her lawyer. I’m going to search for Josh’s darkroom. Where’s Kent?”
“I’m here.” Kent stuck his head in the door.
“Good. I want everyone focused on finding out where he’s taking his victims. He’s had Kelly Templeton for almost three days. He kept Samantha and Alev longer than that so Kelly may still be alive. I don’t want him hanging any more pictures in his closet.”
Friday, October 14, 7:00 P.M.
Jenna woke with a horrific headache giving her the déjà vu feeling of waking up in Allison’s spare bedroom bed all over again. Except the ropes tying her wrists and ankles were brand new.
And she was lying on a hard wood floor, not in Allison’s spare-room bed.
She opened her eyes and looked up. She was in a barn with a high loft. Then she remembered. The graveyard. Seth. Adam. Josh. Running, falling. The blood. Seth. Where was Seth?
She jerked her head to one side and recoiled in horror. She felt the burn of bile as it rose from her stomach into her throat. Nailed to the wall was . . .
Hair. Human hair. Eight... heads of hair. All long and dark. Carefully braided and mounted below framed pictures of smiling girls. Four she recognized, four she did not. Then Josh Lutz came into view, his cheerful whistle an unsettling contrast to the macabre scene. In one of his hands was a hammer, in the other was another framed picture. He looked over at her and sh
e saw he had a nail between his lips. He saw her looking at him and grinned, the nail dark against the white of his teeth. He slipped the picture under his arm and took the nail out of his mouth.
“You’re finally awake.”
Jenna said nothing. Didn’t move as reality began to seep into her brain. As she stared up at him from where she lay tied on the floor, she remembered bitter words to Steven and Neil that morning. No way it could be Rudy, maybe his father, but not Rudy. They’d all been wrong.
Josh Lutz was a killer. Not a nice boy. Not a victim of a dysfunctional family.
Josh was a killer. He’d already tried to kill her once. And this time he would succeed.
Stop that. You will escape. You must. People need you. Seth, Nicky, Steven. They need you.
Josh was grinning again as he pounded the nail into the barn wall. “I see you’ve noticed my decorating. I think it could use a woman’s touch, don’t you? You could help me spruce up the place. What do you think of my newest picture?” He held up the frame and Jenna’s throat closed.
It was her in the park. Laughing. She recognized the sweater as the one she’d worn to the park the day she’d spent with Nicky and Cindy Lou. He’d seen her with Nicky.
Oh, God, no. Please don’t let him touch Nicky.
“Good, I can see you like this one.” He held the picture at arm’s length and tilted his head. “You’re very photogenic, Miss Marshall.”
“Don’t you touch that little boy,” she heard herself say, her voice coarse and harsh.
He frowned. “I don’t do little boys. I’m no pervert.”
“You’re insane.”
He lifted a brow at that as if what she’d said amused him. Amused him. Anger simmered and with it the frustration of helplessness.
“No, not really. Everybody thinks I am, but they’re wrong.” He chuckled and hung her picture on a nail. “So were you. Poor little Josh needs special help.” He made a scoffing noise in his throat and hunkered down beside her, fingering the fabric of her shirt, just to one side of her breast. She pulled back, but he just grinned again. “I could teach your class, Miss Marshall. I don’t need your special help.” He bent his mouth in a thoughtful frown. “But I did get some decorating ideas from you. I really like the way you covered that one wall in your apartment with all those pictures.”
“You were in my apartment.”
He looked bored. “Of course I was. How else could I have held a knife to your throat?”
“You stabbed my dog.”
His face changed, rage twisting his features. “I should have killed your damn dog. Or should I say dogs. Little miss goody-two-shoes, defying the rules, hiding two dogs in her apartment.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t know I had two.
That’s why you only put out enough poison for one.”
“I put out enough poison for two,” he hissed, “wishing to kill one with a great deal of pain.”
“But Jean-Luc didn’t get as much as Jim. He got you. Where did he bite you?” she taunted, not knowing if it would get her killed faster, but not wanting him to think he’d won. If she lay here silent, he would kill her anyway.
His eyes flashed. “Shut up.” She cried out when his hand came crashing across her cheek, pain spearing her head where it banged against the wood floor. “I like you better asleep.”
No. Not again. She didn’t want to lose consciousness again. I might not wake up. “So you’ll make me inhale more of your ketamine?” she baited him, hoping to distract him. Anything.
He looked surprised, then philosophical. “Your boyfriend told you, huh?”
“I found the missing chemicals.”
He stood up and walked toward the wall behind her, where she couldn’t see him. “I know. I found your inventory last night. Stuffed it in my pocket. Didn’t want anyone else to know.”
“It’s too late for that,” she called, still not able to see him. “I told the police.”
She heard his bored chuckle. “You told your boyfriend. That man is too stupid to tie his own shoes, much less find me. I had to draw him a damn map to find the girls. Right, Kelly?”
Jenna’s body tightened. “Kelly?”
“Oh, yes,” he said mildly, still behind her. “She’s here, but I don’t think she can talk right now.”
“You killed her.” Jenna felt a hysterical sob building, but shoved it back.
“I will, but I haven’t. I’m not done with her yet. Besides, I think I’ll have a little fun with you first, then let you watch me kill Kelly so you can see firsthand what will happen to you.” He appeared over her, tall and grinning, a syringe in one hand. “Kind of like . . . foreshadowing. Yes, that’s what Miss Ryan called it.” He knelt beside her and laid the syringe to one side.
“Did you hurt Casey? Were you the one who cut my brakes?” she asked, trying to roll, to scoot, to get away, but he just held her down with one hand. Effortlessly.
“Don’t be ridiculous. That’s not my style at all. If I’d wanted to hurt you, you would have been hurt. My brother’s friends cut your brakes, ineptly as usual.”
“What’s in the needle?” she asked, trying to make her voice cocky, but failing miserably. She heard her own fear and so did he.
With a confident grin he grabbed her arm and with a pair of scissors cut her sleeve at the shoulder, then ripped it from her shirt. “You already guessed it, Miss Marshall. It’s Special
K.”
“Why? Why the drugs, Josh?”
He tied a rubber band around her arm and tested her vein with his thumb. “You know, I’ve given that considerable thought myself. I think I just got so damn tired of doctors pumping me full of shit that I decided to have a little pay-back.”
Jenna struggled, wildly now, and he frowned in irritation. “Hold still. I don’t want to hurt you. Not yet anyway.”
“No.”
He grunted and held her down with his knee. “Yes. I’m in charge, dammit, and I say yes.” He grabbed the syringe and slid it into her vein. “Now, Miss Marshall, settle down and I’ll tell you a story. You’re going to sleep soon, but when you wake up”—he lifted his brows, his dark eyes sparkling— “you’ll be in ...a forest. Yes, that’s good. A forest, surrounded by wolves. I like that. It’s very . . . apropos given your love for such beasts. Large, vicious wolves with fangs. Snarling, drooling fangs. And one by one, they’ll creep up to you and... tear your flesh from your bones. And it will hurt. A lot.”
Jenna stared up at him, feeling her body grow numb. “What...?”
He sat down next to her, cross-legged, and carefully capped the syringe. “Ketamine has some pretty cool effects, Miss Marshall,” he explained, now sounding incredibly like a teenager. “When you’re going under you’re suggestible and when you come out, you’ll dream.” He smiled. Satisfied.
“You’ll dream whatever I tell you to dream. Because I’m in charge here.”
Jenna struggled, but only in her mind now. Her body was frozen. “Sweet dreams, Miss Marshall,” she heard him say. Then nothing.
Friday, October 14, 7:00 P.M.
The darkroom was in the small closet of an unused bedroom and what Steven found there chilled his blood. Pictures, hundreds of pictures in stacks, hanging from drying lines. He plucked one off the line and his heart plunged.
It was he and Jenna. Together. Shots above the waist, but they showed . . . He swallowed, remembering the night very well. He’d practically torn the sweater from her body in their passion and she’d wrapped herself around him, her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist, pressing her warm breasts into his chest. But he didn’t have to rely on his memory. Josh Lutz had captured everything in full color.
“Steven.” Sandra was behind him and she carefully took the pictures and placed them in a folder. “We’ll take them as evidence, but I’ll make sure no one sees them,” she said softly.
Straightening, Steven rested his hands on his hips and blew out a sigh. “Thanks. I’m kind of glad he’s not he
re right now,” he said grimly. “I might kill him myself.”
Sandra squeezed his arm and turned away to continue the search.
Steven picked up another stack and felt adrenaline kick even as his stomach turned over. “Sandra, look. He’s taken pictures of the girls’ bodies, but inside somewhere. It looks like a barn.” He flipped through the photos quickly. “Here’s one showing a table saw.”
“The sawdust in Kelly’s bedroom.”
“Yeah. And circular saw patterns the ME found on Alev’s arms and legs.” Steven flipped through some more photos. “Here’s one with a window in view. The sun’s coming up.”
“Or going down,” Sandra said, her own voice tight with tension. “It faces a road. You can see a little bit of it through the trees here. Let me get this to the lab. Maybe they can get more detail.”
“The negatives will be here somewhere,” Steven said, putting aside a stack of pictures, only to have the stack slide sideways. “Dammit,” he gritted, moving to straighten the stack. Then a single print jumped out at him and he froze. “Oh, God. Sandra,” he whispered and heard her indrawn breath as she looked over his shoulder. “It’s Nicky. With Jenna in the park.”
“I’ll get a cruiser over to your house right away.”
Steven put the picture in Sandra’s steady hands, wishing his were. “Thanks.”
“Nicky’s fine. He’s with your aunt and we would have heard if there was any trouble.”
He nodded. Tried to breathe. “You’re right. I know you’re right.” Still he remembered how it felt to know his baby had been stolen. It couldn’t happen again. He wouldn’t let it.
“Go get some water, Steven,” Sandra commanded. “You can’t keel over on us now.”
Steven forced a grin. “Yes, ma’am.” Then his cell phone jangled and Sandra stopped, two steps from the door. Her face went white and he could see she was thinking the same thing he was. His hands shaking, he answered, “Thatcher.”
“Steven.” It was Nancy and her voice was frantic. Steven sagged against a wall of the darkroom. “Not Nicky. Please.”
“No, no, not Nicky. It’s Jenna. She’s gone.”