The Profilers

by Suzanne Steele

  “As much as I appreciate the support, I don’t want that anymore. I want out. I can’t take any more abuse and before he kills me, or I…well, never mind.”

  “Let’s go over to a private room to chat,” The Librarian suggested. Rene knew then that she was onto something.

  Bingo, she mouthed in her partner’s direction.

  David scooted up to watch the screen as they talked.

  “I’m just scared I might do something to him. I don’t know how much more I can take.” Rene typed in.

  “Do you have any family you can stay with?”

  “I have no one. That’s the problem. I can’t move because I have nowhere to go. You know the funny thing about it is if he died in a car wreck or something, I would be an instant millionaire. The bastard was stupid enough to take out life insurance policies on us both. He thinks I don’t know but he did it back when he served in the military and just kept paying on them. I wonder at times if he keeps mine active so he can cash in on my death.”

  “Not if he dies first,” The Librarian typed in.

  “That’s true… very, very true.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Angel sat under the bus stop awning and toyed with her phone. She was glad Rene had gone ahead and used her street name as her handle in the chat room. It would be easier to remember if she was fucked up and that was the case most of the time.

  She hadn’t made any money yet and suddenly the bright idea of trying to hustle that do-gooder librarian the agents were trying to get her to set up was looking more inviting.

  She made her way onto the website and typed her profile name and password into the phone, glad she had paid attention when Rene had set it up. It couldn’t hurt to get the lay of the land so to speak. Damn it, the woman wasn’t signed in. Of course, at two o’ clock in the morning, she wasn’t really expecting her to be.

  She pondered just how much she could get out of these people on the site. Her own apartment would be nice and they would probably buy her groceries too. If she played her cards right, she might be able to get them to pay her bills and she could still hustle on the side. There was the minor problem that she wasn’t in an abusive relationship but she could bang her face up on her own to make it look like she was. Yes, the prospect was sounding better and better as the rain pelted down around her. She’d take a couple of days and think on it before she made her move.

  “Hey girl, you want to party?”

  She looked up to see that Reginald and his dimwit friend had pulled up in front of the bus stop. She twirled the wad of gum around her finger and eyed them with skepticism.

  “Word is that you killed your old lady.”

  “I didn’t kill that bitch. You don’t see me behind bars, do ya?”

  She giggled, “Whatcha got to get high on?”

  “Meth and pot.”

  “Yeah, meth and pot,” Reginald’s friend guffawed with a goofy grin.

  “Yeah, I guess so,” she answered, sauntering over to the car. “What’s your name?” she asked as she eyed Reginald’s friend.

  “Bobbie,” he answered as he got out so she could sit between them. For a second she wondered about that, the way they put her between them so she’d be trapped with no way out, but the lure of the promised high was too strong for her to care.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Reginald pulled up to the abandoned building hidden in an area that few bothered to venture into anymore. Broken glass riddled the concrete paving from where people had carelessly busted beer bottles against the brick siding.

  The apartments that sat in front of the building obscured the sight of them breaking through the door but it was the dilapidated state of the entire neighborhood that pretty much ensured no one would bother to call the police.

  “What the hell? I thought we were going to your house, Reginald?”

  “My mother’s asleep and I don’t want to hear her bitching about me bringing company over this late. Come on in. We’re just here to get high. Ain’t nobody gonna bother you, girl.”

  “Yeah,” Bobbie laughed, “you’re getting a free high.”

  “You gonna give me a ride home after?” Angel stood with her hand on her hip as she eyed Reginald.

  “Well, I damn sure ain’t gonna leave you here,” he offered.

  “Okay, but just a couple hits off the pipe and I’m gonna be ready to go.”

  He pushed her through the doorway in lieu of an answer. There was a lime green, torn up couch against the wall and empty paint cans, left over from where graffiti had been tagged, littered the floor. It was evident that they weren’t the first group of druggies to use the building as a place to get high.

  “Sit down.” Reginald nodded towards the couch.

  She sat and smoothed out her skirt, unsure why she was suddenly feeling so self-conscious. It wouldn’t have been so bad if she had worn underwear but it was easier to turn tricks in cars without them.

  Reginald reached in his pocket and pulled out the meth and pipe he had stashed there. The meth sizzled and popped, igniting an impatience in all of them to hit the pipe. His eyes never left the girl as he lit it up again and inhaled the toxic smoke.

  “Here, girl,” he offered as he handed her the pipe and watched as she followed his lead.

  “Give me some,” Bobbie whined.

  “Hold on, motherfucker,” Reginald scowled. “We want our girl to get good and high.”

  “Ah yeah,” he agreed, finally realizing what Reginald was up to.

  Reginald reached back into his jacket, pulled out a small bottle of amber colored liquor, and handed it to the girl. “Let’s get this party started.”

  “I don’t want any,” Angel eyed the mystery liquid and wrinkled her nose.

  “I didn’t ask,” he snarled and shoved it towards her.

  She took the bottle and tried to take a small, tentative sip. Reginald pushed it against her lips, leaving her with the choice of swallowing it down or choking. Uneasiness settled in her gut that had nothing to do with the alcohol she was being forced to consume.

  “I’m just going to go ahead and walk home,” she told them, trying to hide the fear that suddenly consumed her. She attempted to get up off the dirty couch only to have Reginald push her back down into the sagging cushions.

  “You ain’t going nowhere!”

  When she attempted to rise again, Reginald’s fist in her face let her know this wasn’t going to be a free high.

  “Ain’t no sense in being unfriendly.” Bobby grabbed her arms and pulled her back down onto the couch. She realized then and there that she could give in or fight, but either way, she wouldn’t be leaving the party without the guys getting what they wanted from her.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Dr. Ozment leaned against the hospital wall in a semblance of ease. Anyone who had been around him any amount of time admired him for the relaxed and calm nature he possessed. Regardless of how out of control things got in the emergency room, he always maintained an air of peacefulness about him.

  He pushed himself off the wall when he witnessed a woman being brought in on a gurney. Ambulance workers were yelling out details to those who would be assigned the job of stabilizing her.

  He made his way to the side of the gurney and looked down on the woman, trying to quell his outrage and give her a look that he hoped would convey serenity. She had been beaten beyond recognition.

  “I never should have gone with them. This is my fault.”

  “No, this is their fault and I need to know who did this to you.”

  “I want to talk to Agent Turner,” she replied softly.

  “Sweetie, normally SVU handles cases like this. He’s FBI.”

  “I’m working with him on something. Just call him; he’ll come.”

  “I will do that for you and I’m going to give you a little something to help you relax. When Agent Turner and his partner get here, I want you to tell them who did this to you.”

  “I can assure you those two guys are go
ing to get what’s coming to them. I’m going to make sure of it.”

  He patted her hand in a reassuring manner as he spoke, “Let’s let the professionals deal with this.”

  By the time he got the words out, she was already well on her way to being very relaxed and it was a good thing too. It was the only way she was able to endure the humiliation of having the rape kit done. No matter how much empathy was shown during the whole process, it was still embarrassing and traumatic to have someone collect evidence off of, and from inside, your body, especially so soon after an attack.

  “Call me if you need me,” the doctor instructed the nurse who had already set up what she would need to do the procedure.

  “Will do,” she answered, already focused on the job at hand.

  Agent Turner quickly pulled through the specialty coffee drive-thru and ordered two just as his phone rang. He handed it to Rene as he finished getting their order and listened.

  “You can’t be serious,” she put it on speaker so her partner could hear what was going on.

  “Yes, I’ve got her sedated but she’s saying she won’t talk to anybody but Agent Turner. You guys need to hurry and get to the hospital while she’s willing to talk. All she keeps saying is that it’s her fault that this happened.”

  “We’re on our way.” Rene handed the phone back and just shook her head in disbelief. “Seems our informant got raped and beat up last night. The doctor is saying whoever did it really worked her over. Damn, I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t like the girl ‘cause she has a crush on you but it is never the victim’s fault and I certainly didn’t wish this on her.”

  “Do you think a john did it?” he asked.

  “I have no idea but from what the doctor is saying, she knows who’s responsible.”

  “Well, the only way to find out is to hurry up and get there so we can interview her.”

  “You don’t think this is our serial guy do you?”

  “No, it’s two totally different MOs.”

  Rene watched as her partner pulled into a parking place close to the ER entrance that was reserved for police officers. They grabbed their coffees and quickly made their way inside.

  The receptionist immediately recognized them and got up to lead them to the bay where their informant turned victim was recuperating.

  Rene was the first to speak as she made her way bedside to stroke Angel’s hand.

  “I never should have gone with those guys. This is all my fault.”

  “No it isn’t; it’s never the victim’s fault. Who did this to you?”

  “Reginald and Bobbie. They pulled up to the bus stop I was at and asked me if I wanted to get high. I was looking for a freebie and this is what I got. This isn’t fucking free!” she sobbed.

  “We’re going to get these guys. Now, is that the same Reginald who was pimping out Louisa, the girl who was killed?”

  “Yes, it was him and that guy Bobbie who’s always hanging out with him.” She took a moment to look at Rene. “Speaking of the killer, I want you to get pictures of me like this. Let me send them to the killer in that chat room.”

  “I don’t know.” Agent Turner shook his head. “Putting your face out there like that could put you in a dangerous situation.”

  “My life has never counted for anything good. If I could help stop whoever is killing these victims of spousal abuse, then I could at least feel like something good came of this. Those women aren’t the ones who should be targeted. The abusers deserve death, not the victims. Use your phone, take pictures of my face like this, and contact whoever you need to contact online. If they see me beat up this badly, they’ll trust that I’m married to an abuser and we can stop a killer. I’m going to feel guilty for the rest of my life if I don’t do this.”

  Instead of answering, Agent Turner lifted up his phone. The flash repeatedly went off as he took pictures of her swollen and discolored face.

  Rene patted her hand again as she said, “I doubt anyone would recognize you like this so your real identity is probably safe.”

  “I don’t care about being safe but I do care about more women needlessly dying.”

  “Well, I do care about your safety and I definitely care about seeing you avenged.” Rene looked at her partner and she could tell they were on the same page. They would make sure this girl stayed safe.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Angel waited until the agents left and grabbed her phone. She was out for vengeance and she had no intentions of waiting for the cops to get it for her.

  She held the phone out, took a bunch of selfies, and then immediately went to every profile she had online and posted them with a message. She also went to both of the men’s profiles, downloaded their pictures, and posted them with a warning. She wanted to make sure other women knew what they looked like and stayed away from them. She was also going to make sure that anyone inclined to kick ass, got the right guys.

  This is what was done to me last night by two men who go by the names ‘Bobbie’ and ‘Reginald.’ They are known to hang out in the west end area of Louisville, Kentucky. If you see these two men, please stay away from them unless you want to end up like me.

  She posted the pictures before she could change her mind. Another thought hit her and before she closed the window, she went back in and put the location of where she had been assaulted under the comment section. She was confident they would get the shit kicked out of them by some well-meaning vigilante. With any luck, maybe the neighborhood would get to them before the cops did. For the first time since the attack, she rolled over and went to sleep in peace.

  The funny thing about being a serial killer is that even if you start killing due to some sense of justice, you develop a thirst for blood. After a cooling off period, when you can no longer relive the excitement of the last kill, you get the itch to kill again.

  Social media has provided a means to stalk with an ease and anonymity that was never available before the popularity of home computers. This worked out perfectly as there were two new members in the chat room the killer wanted to check out. One had been secretive about her identity, which was completely understandable, but the other had been an open book.

  Now was as good a time as any to see if the various sites and profiles she had provided were legitimate. Sure enough, when the research was done, the killer was convinced Angel was a victim. This was hitting close to home too, which would work out quite well. Right there, posted for all the world to see, was a picture of the pimp who had been responsible for the abuse of one of the serial killer’s victims as well as Angel’s. She even posted pictures of her injuries along with a warning about the two men who hurt her. Finally! A woman fighting back! Yes, this one was worthy of help. This one was making sure her voice was heard. It would be easy enough to pick up these dirt bags. The only question was how to subdue two full-grown men.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Agent Turner kicked trash out of the way as he and his partner made their way up to a house that looked like it should have been condemned years ago.

  They didn’t even need to knock on the door because Reginald’s mother had already opened it, cussing out her son who was nowhere to be found.

  “I don’t know where that little bastard is. He’s on the run after that girl put his picture up on the internet and called him a rapist. Far as I’m concerned, if the little son of a bitch did it, I hope he gets what he deserves. That poor girl’s face looks like mincemeat and to rape her on top of it makes me wish I hadn’t even brought him into the world. That boy has been nothing but trouble since the day I birthed him and now this...”

  “Ma’am, if he comes home, it’s imperative that you have him contact us. His life could be in danger.”

  “Like I said, I don’t care. If those boys raped that girl like she’s saying they did, they deserve to get what’s coming to ‘em.”

  As badly as Agent Turner didn’t want to agree with her, there was a part of him that did.

  The killer b
reathed in deeply, flexing her fingers on the steering wheel as if it would ward off some her nervous energy. She pulled into a darkened lot, thinking that this was as good a place as any to park the car while she looked for her next victim, or victims as was the case this time. It wasn’t her normal MO but these two would help sate the uncontrollable urge she’d been fighting lately to watch the breath leave a victim’s body by her hand. It was such a powerful feeling to be in utter control as you watch the light leave a person’s eyes when they died. These two deserved death. She just hoped she could pull it off by herself.

  She reached over, opened the glove compartment to retrieve the pistol she had brought with her, and tucked it in the waistband of her jeans. She got out of her car and locked the doors, looking around to make certain no one was watching before she headed out to search for the men responsible for raping that poor girl.

  Once again, she the patted the gun at her back and made certain it was covered by the purple leather jacket she wore. She then sauntered down to the stroll and got in the mindset that she would need to be viewed as a hooker. Her hips swayed with every step she made in her five inch stiletto boots. She had pulled off the first part of her plan—blending in.

  “What the fuck was she thinking?”

  “David, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know this girl is reacting out of fear and misguided guilt. I’m sure she doesn’t want to see anyone else suffer what she has gone through. She’s traumatized.”

  ‘She’s going to get those two killed is what she’s going to do.”

  “Am I supposed to feel bad for them? Because I don’t. They at least deserve a good ass kicking after what they did to her.”

  “You, of all people, know how this could escalate. Hell, Rene, the wrong people could get killed.”

  Rene held her phone up, revealing the two pictures on Angel’s profile. “I doubt anyone is going to mistake the wrong person for one of these two dirt bags.”