by B. J. Woster
Once he was assured that her bedroom was as spotless and evidence-free as the living room, he enacted one final measure of safety, for himself. He pulled out a syringe of his personally prepared cocktail of Rohypnol/Melatonin from his satchel, and returned to the bedroom. He could just use the Rohypnol, but he wanted to ensure they slept a long time, did not waken until he was well away. He lifted her fleshy arm, and slid the tip into a vein, depressing the contents into her blood stream.
“There now, you’ll sleep for about eight more hours and then you’ll awaken from your really long, three-day nap with absolutely no recollection that anyone was ever here. And other than losing a few pounds and a bruise on your arm, you won’t even realize you missed that time. Thank you for the loan of your apartment and your food stores. I am sorry that I interrupted your vacation. Perhaps you’ll be able to do Jamaica next year. I wish I could replace the money you lost on the airfare, but that’s the price paid for assisting me.”
He recalled his encounter with Consuela three days earlier at his self-defense class. Consuela was one of those women who were so eager to be friends, or in a relationship with anyone that she tended to reveal far more about herself than was prudent. For Consuela, she was beginning her vacation to Jamaica the following day and looked forward to going home after class to pack for her flight, which was scheduled to depart at 6:30 the following morning. Perfect, in Christian’s estimation. That meant that she wouldn’t be missed at work, or by anyone else, for a good long while. He’d engaged her in conversation to ensure that the intended vacation would be alone, which it was, of course. Consuela was a lovely woman, in personality, but her outward countenance was less than appealing. This leant an air of desperation for finding a mate, which suited Christian’s needs beautifully.
He’d talked her into dinner that evening, under the guise of starting her vacation off on a celebratory note, and ensured she knew it was his gentlemanly duty to see her home to her door, safely. From there, gaining entrance had been as easy as a kiss on the cheek, which he did again now prior to leaving her bedroom.
He gave the apartment a final glance and then opened the door into the hallway. He heard the sirens. They seemed closer. He always tried hard not to allow his brain to run amok with worries, but the sound of so many sirens caused him to wonder whether he’d exit the building and be surrounded by cops. He listened more intently and began to calm, feeling confident that they weren’t at this complex yet. He sucked in a deep breath and peered into the hallway, as always ensuring that it was clear of people before heading out. A person might not give him a second glance if he were just wandering about the halls, but a neighbor might find it very suspicious if he were to exit from an apartment of someone known to him or her. He hadn’t avoided capture by being stupid.
He quickly retrieved his gear and casually headed down the steps of the Kingsboro Place Apartments to stow it into the trunk of his car. During that time, he made a cursory glance about but did not yet see any uniformed officers. He felt his pulse slow and relief flood his system. Still, it would be careless to linger, so he dashed up the steps and, after ensuring the coast was still clear, grabbed the trash bags and sprinted back to his car. He threw the bags in the back seat and would dispose of them in a dumpster on his way out. He sighed heavily in relief, turning over the ignition. A quick glance at his watch told him that he didn’t have very long to set up for his next victim, find another apartment to borrow, and to locate another participant in his on-going experiments. That aggravated him, since what he really wanted was to head for the Georgia border.
The first couple of abductions in a new city were the easiest to pull off because he spent several weeks setting up for them. In this instance, he’d joined a local church and then started a martial arts class for women’s self-defense at that church. He’d managed to abscond with two women using that cover. He’d also found a suitable apartment to use through that class from which to monitor Brooke Madison. And from the church’s congregation, he’d found an apartment from which to monitor Sandra McIntyre. It belonged to a lonely old lady who admitted to spending her days watching television. He’d offered to stop by to visit her, which she’d readily agreed to as “no one ever stops by to visit anymore.” Perfect patsy, perfect location. They always were.
But perfect never lasted after the first two abductions. Police collected too much evidence, lost memories had victims seeking out police in filling in the gaps of their missing days, and even more chilling to him was the net that started closing in. That fear of capture always had him wondering why he just didn’t quit—whether the police departments failed or not. Just allow the message to be given and hope they changed their ways. Less likely to be caught that way.
Every time he told himself that he’d get angry again at their incompetence. He ran those tests, he reminded himself, to improve police response time. If he gave up, what message would that send? That they could stop caring about their citizens.
Fortunately, those police precincts who found victim number two in time were more in number than those with which a third experiment was required. If it got to a third victim, he would all but spoon-feed the police clues in order to ensure the victim was found. He never went beyond three abductions, because the longer he stayed in a city, the more likely it was the police, or a concerned citizen, would spot him. If he were arrested, he couldn’t continue his experiments in other cities, so he rationalized that three was the maximum number of deaths with which to drive home the point that the police couldn’t take their times locating a person gone missing. Still, to feel justified in quitting after the third abduction, he generally made it more difficult, by cutting the time allotted from thirty-six hours to half that time…or less.
“I won’t be taking any risks after this city,” he concluded. “I’m planning for all three abductions at the onset. Make things less frantic and anxiety-ridden. Now though, first things first,” he said to himself after dropping the bags in the dumpster at the head of the complex, “I need to find a way around all of those sirens.”
He punched Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport into his GPS and selected what he deemed the safest route out of that area. He didn’t really need to go to the airport, but he knew that the police wouldn’t be searching that region for him—yet. Once at the airport, he could start planning the abduction. He took the off-ramp toward I-85 southbound, then flipped on the radio and immediately perked up at the news broadcast.
“Sources at the APD have confirmed that the perpetrator, known only as Christian Price, may also be responsible for at least twenty deaths in major cities all along the east coast.”
Christian laughed without humor, “Well, I’m impressed. I thought you were intelligent when I spoke to you, but then you royally screwed up the search for Brooke Madison. Now, you’ve proven adept at finding out information. Still, if you’re so smart, Detective Hardwick, how could you fail so miserably?”
His monologue ended when he spotted a sign for Grant Park, which made him mentally alter his route. He veered onto the off-ramp to I-20 E and then swung onto Boulevard toward the park. He never knew why he chose a particular community for his work, but he did know he’d have a better chance of finding his next victim in a neighborhood than at a bustling airport.
He spotted the Park Avenue Baptist Church, and grinned enthusiastically, pulling into the nearly over-flowing parking lot.
He glanced at his watch again. It was nearing 7 p.m., which meant that mid-week church services would be just beginning. There was always a single female among the churchgoers, always someone alone who proved an easy target.
He sat back and watched those entering the church. It wasn’t long before he spotted a perfect pawn. She’d either be the one he’d be staying with or the one participating in his experiment. He’d decide that later, but the thought had his mind drifting to his next experiment. An impish grin appeared on his face when he settled on a particularly malevolent trial he’d conducted in Bosto
n a while back. Particularly malevolent, because, unlike the gas he’d used several times now, this particular method of extinction allowed for zero tardiness in police arrival. With the gassing method, the victim stood a chance at survival if the police arrived early or in the nick of time. Not a huge chance, and their life might prove difficult from that point forward, if they suffered ill side effects, but they’d still be alive.
He tended to reserve the method that allowed for zero tardiness for his third attempt because by then, he was all but giving the police an address in which to find the victim. By the third try, the police should not fail. If they did…well, there was simply no quarter given. That last thought had him dialing the police precinct again.
“Atlanta Police Department. Zone 5. Please hold.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Christian snapped as he listened to the silence extend into minutes on the other end of the line. He nearly ended the call when it was reconnected.
“Atlanta Police Department, Zone 5. How may I direct your call?”
“I need to speak with Detective Hardwick. Urgently. It’s regarding the kidnapping cases.”
“Please hold.”
Christian grinned as he imagined Hardwick rushing to take his call, trying to calm himself before picking up the line.
“This is Detective Hardwick.”
“Detective, this is Christian Price.”
“Why don’t you just dispense with the theatrics and tell me your real name?”
“I didn’t call to engage in banter, Detective. I called to tell you how angrily disappointed I am that you shifted your focus to finding me. It’s the girls you should be concerned about, first and foremost.”
“You heard the sirens.” Hardwick stated flatly, and Christian knew he’d been right that they’d been searching for him.
“I did, and I knew that you’d lost focus,” Christian retorted.
“Brooke was already dead. I need to find you before you take another woman hostage, before you kill again.”
“Don’t ever make me your focus again, Detective, or I won’t leave Atlanta after this next abduction. Do I make myself clear?”
Hardwick went quiet, and for a moment Christian thought the line had gone dead—if not for the heavy breathing on the other end.
“It’s my job to stop you by any means necessary,” Hardwick replied softly, his tone deadly. “Just because you don’t happen to want to get caught doesn’t mean that I’ll stop looking for you. If I get to you, you don’t get to claim any more lives.”
“Do you know why I left the other cities, Detective?”
“I thought you weren’t interested in engaging in banter, Price.”
Christian laughed shortly, “I’m not, but I do feel the need to enlighten you. I left because the police officers, with whom I dealt, did what I told them to do. They found the girls. No more, no less.”
“After you wrapped up clues in a nice box with a bow on top, from what I understand.”
“I told you that I don’t really like killing, Detective, so I finally lend a hand, the best I can, without getting ensnared. It’s not my intention to ever get caught, because if I do, my experiments will end and there are simply too many more police officers who need a jump-start in their enthusiasm to catch criminals. The police have become too unconcerned. If I put police officers on alert, across the nation, that they must meet certain expectations, then perhaps less people will die. Maybe, just maybe, crime will go down, or more criminals will pay the price for their actions.”
“I will continue to hunt you down, Price, and eventually, I will find you.”
“Well, then, I’d best let you know that I’ve left your district already—temporarily. Knowing that, I urge you to let the APD rest for now, because when I return to your district tomorrow evening, another woman’s life will be on the clock.”
Christian looked up and noticed the throng of people milling about outside had gone in and the sound of an opening hymnal reached his ears. He quickly hung up the phone and slid from his vehicle.
He needed to head inside to locate that petite African American woman he’d spotted. He didn’t want to lose sight of her, but lost sight of her he had. He quietly entered the church and peered in through the sanctuary doors to give the congregation a cursory glance and then turned and walked out. Normally, he would stay, find his quarry to see if she’d met up with someone inside, but this time he knew it wouldn’t be prudent as he was the only Caucasian in the building. That would make him more memorable and memorable didn’t serve him well.
He returned to his vehicle to wait for services to let out, hoping that the early autumn nightfall didn’t prohibit him from spotting his target again. It didn’t. At 9:15, she exited and immediately split off from the crowd, headed toward a gray Buick LeSabre. Apparently, though she attended church, she wasn’t one of those who socialized with the members of the congregation. At least not on a mid-week evening service. That served his needs perfectly.
He started his engine and waited patiently for her to leave the parking lot. Apparently, she wasn’t in a hurry, for he saw her silhouette from a street light, pick up a cell. That turned into a lengthy conversation.
Nearly every car in the lot was gone, which made him a bit jittery. If it came down to just her and him sitting there, she’d likely get suspicious. He nearly abandoned this person in search of another, when he saw her lower the phone. A moment later, her engine roared to life and a smile lit his features. He’d left his car idling during her extended chat, so all he needed to do was shift into gear and follow her. He kept his fingers crossed, literally, as he steered through the winding streets around Grants Park, that this woman lived alone and that he’d be able to gain access to her without interference. A glance at his watch told him that he would have precious, little time to locate another woman if this one turned out to be inaccessible. As it was, once he determined her role, he’d still need to find someone else to stay with, and set up the experiment. He clenched his teeth—he hated rushed deadlines. Perhaps he should call the local media and change the tomorrow evening deadline given. Perhaps he would, if the time crunch proved undoable. For a split second, he’d considered using this same woman as the victim and using her house as his headquarters. He dismissed the thought as fast as it entered his mind, because the home of a victim was almost always one of the first places investigators searched during and after a person was abducted. It was too great a risk. Another thought shot through his mind, but he dismissed it equally fast—rent a motel room for his operations. It would save time, to be sure, but he never did that, because he couldn’t control that environment as he could the single owner of an apartment. Motel rooms meant using identification. There were also too many people to provide an identity should someone offer up a sketch to police or the media, as they had done here. No, better one person’s memory to deal with than working with a bunch of unknowns.
He relaxed his jaw when she pulled into the drive of a small house, tall poplars bordered the property on both sides and a tall box hedge at the front of the property offered added seclusion. Moreover, she continued down the drive until she stopped at a gate to the rear.
“Oh, brilliant! This couldn’t be more perfect,” he purred, pulling to a stop along the heavily tree-lined sidewalk. The fact that it was absolutely perfect gave him reason to believe that his mission in life was just, that the fates wanted him to succeed in teaching the police a lesson. Otherwise, the police would have stopped him by now. A quick reflection on his prior abductions convinced him further that fate was on his side because he’d snatched each woman as easily as he would this one. He had, in all abductions, played out the scenario as if scripted by providence.
He smiled and waited with God-like patience as she stepped back into her Buick and drove around to the back of the house before pulling into the driveway himself.
His timing had to be just as perfect now.
He knew he’d not be seen by anyone, because this prop
erty was designed for privacy. His grinned widened, but immediately faded, because he couldn’t allow for cockiness. Just because the scene was perfectly set, didn’t mean he could proceed haphazardly. Being cautious was why the police never caught him.
All he had to do was get through to the backyard before she finished parking and returned to shut, and perhaps lock, the gate, and hope she didn’t get too alarmed when she sees him to raise an alarm before he manages to subdue her. He threw the car in park and quickly retrieved his supplies from the trunk, then climbed back in and slowly accelerated toward the back yard.
Luck remained with him as he maneuvered to park behind her sedan. She was still there, her head leaning back against the headrest. From his vantage in her rearview, he could see that she’d closed her eyes, and from the downed window, he could hear why. She was listening to what he could only surmise was a favorite song, and she didn’t want to go inside until it finished playing. He wanted to laugh at how easy this abduction was going to go.
Cautiously, he collected his supplies and stepped from the car. Slowly, as to not alert her to his presence, he bent at the waist and tiptoed across the short expanse, grateful that there was grass beneath his shoes and not gravel.
He stopped by her window, and stared at her face, in contented repose, and felt a momentary twinge of regret that it would be him that shattered her peace.
With swift reflex, his hand, holding a cloth saturated with chloroform, whipped into the window and latched onto her face. He covered her nose and mouth securely, tightly, so to prevent the struggles and tugs of her hands from dislodging his.