The trail walk didn’t invoke anything unusual, but there seemed to be the same expression of drama to the location of this crime scene. Emily still tries to connect the crime scenes together. She asks herself what was so significant about these locations. There’s another crime scene in Pajaro that she will investigate tomorrow. For now, as the cool offshore breeze enlivens her senses, she decides to take a few minutes to relax and maybe something in her mind will click.
She kicks off her tennis shoes and peels off her sweatshirt, now dressed in sweats and a tank top. With a big wrist flick action, the Frisbee sails out toward the water. Sergeant gallops into the surf to retrieve his prize. The beach is fairly deserted, only a few joggers and kids playing in the sand. She watches Sergeant jump around in the water, taking extra time before returning to Emily. The sea air is cool and brisk while there’s a slight cloud cover blocking some of the sun’s rays.
Emily sits down and curls her toes in the sand trying to relieve her mind of ghastly images of death. She manages to locate all of the distinct shades of the sand granules at her feet. A voice stops her intense search and she looks up.
“Hi.” Detective Lopez stands in front of her breathing hard from a vigorous run, barefooted and wearing running shorts. His dark t-shirt is soaked with perspiration.
Surprised, Emily replies, “Hi.” She tries not to stare at him too closely or admire his muscles.
Sergeant runs up and jumps on the detective with wet sandy paws leaving distinct prints on the front of his shirt.
“Sergeant!” Emily stands up. “I’m so sorry.”
Laughing, Rick says, “No big deal. We are at the beach.” He gestures around him.
Emily smiles, “I guess you’re right.” She throws the Frisbee again and watches Sergeant bound into the water. She continues, “So the department actually gave you a day off?”
“Not really the day, but I’m taking a short break to get my thoughts together.”
“Oh.” Emily pauses for a moment. “Figuring out a way to get rid of my neighbor?”
“Still working on it. Has he been bothering you?”
“No. It’s just a little unnerving that he lives only a few feet away.” She sits down and watches the hypnotic waves lap at the sand.
Rick sits down next to her and watches the waves too. Sergeant bounds back and lies down with his tongue hanging out looking at Emily and then back to the detective.
Emily takes a long moment before she asks a question. “Are you making any progress on the serial killer case?”
Rick stares at her for a long moment before answering. “Some.” He gets a feeling that she knows more than she’s saying. “I could always use some insight.”
“Insight?”
“You know your thoughts, opinions, references, maybe you know an eye witness to the crimes.”
Emily laughs. “Detective if I didn’t know better I’d think you’re flirting with me or the very least making fun of me.”
He looks at the water with two seagulls swooping overhead, “I would never make fun of you.” For the first time in months, he really feels at ease sitting with Emily, even if they don’t say a word to one another.
Emily gets up and shakes off excess sand. She’s a little embarrassed that the detective made a roundabout compliment to her. “It’s nice to see you again detective, but we’ve got to go.”
Standing up and facing her, Rick requests, “Please, call me Rick.”
She smiles, “Nice to meet you Rick.”
They face each other for an awkward moment. Sergeant jumps around them excited that he has someone else to impress.
The detective offers, “Call me if there’s any change with your neighbor. And if you really feel like you’re safety is at risk call 911.” He studies her face trying to read her, but it’s difficult. Her intense dark eyes haunt him, and he notices that her cuts on her face are healing up nicely.
“You’ll be the first to know.”
“I’m staying at The Beach Inn for a while, so you can reach me there if I’m not at the office numbers.”
“Thanks. C’mon Sergeant.” Emily smiles and begins to walk back up the trail leaving the detective behind to finish his run.
Emily walks up the trail with a wet happy dog. She can feel the detective watching her go and she dares not to turn around. Part of her enjoys the attention, but part of her is worried that he might get too curious about her.
Rick shifts his weight and slightly stretches his calves as he watches Emily begin to hike up the beach trail. There is more about her than meets the eye. There’s something so familiar about her that it actually troubles him. It’s not like he knows her from somewhere, but rather like he knows how she thinks.
* * * * *
Chapter Thirty-Five
Monday 0830 Hours
Police officers and the administrative staff filter into the Sheriff’s Office on another hectic Monday morning. For most, coffee seems to be the most important component of the day. Phones are ringing and a few citizens trickle in to pay outstanding tickets, get copies of incident reports, and be fingerprinted for job applications and licenses.
Rick is nursing his third or fourth cup of coffee as he begins to go over phone messages and his plan for follow up investigative interviews. His phone extension rings.
Picking up the receiver, “Lopez Homicide.” He listens and then smiles, “Hey Rivas, how’s it going?”
Detective Ray Rivas from the Yuma County Sheriff’s Office is an old friend of Rick’s. They worked together for a short period of time before Rivas moved to Yuma. They managed to stay in touch and even worked a cross-jurisdictional missing person case together.
Detective Rivas says, “Pretty good, not enough hours in the day.”
“No kidding, I’ve got my hands full here.”
“I heard about your serial case. Tough break.”
“You’re not calling about new information on my cases are you?” He said jokingly.
Detective Rivas becomes serious, “No, sorry. But I wanted to ask if there has been any information sent to you about the case.”
Detective Lopez frowns, “What do you mean sent to me?”
“Has information been sent to you by email anonymously?”
“No, why?”
“The child serial murder case that I recently closed was because someone sent me information anonymously by email. Of course, it was legit and authenticated, but we never had a clue who sent it or where it came from. It was top investigative stuff, I mean truly exceptional.”
“And you think someone would send me information about my serial case?”
Detective Rivas explains, “About a week ago a woman was the victim of a hit and run driver here. She was very lucky to have survived the wreck; her car was totaled, and she had some major computer equipment and surveillance stuff smashed to pieces.”
Detective Lopez tunes out the morning chatter around him and listens intently as his stomach begins to tighten.
Detective Rivas continues, “She was released the next day from the hospital. In the meantime, I kept one of her hard drives from her laptop computer that was salvaged from her Explorer. I was actually going to call her to ask if she wants it back, or if we can junk it.”
“Don’t tell me, your curiosity got the better of you?” Rick has an unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“Actually, I went to speak with her in the hospital, and my gut was telling me something different than what her answers were telling me. She had several weapons and high-tech computer equipment. And get this, she even had a Beretta strapped to her ankle when she was brought to the emergency room.”
Rick listens intently and he has a feeling he knows exactly what his friend is going to say.
“I had forensic services take a peak at her hard drive to see if it’s just, you know, the usual stuff.”
“What did you find?” Detective Lopez could barely speak.
“The information emailed to me about the
child serial killer case originated from that specific hard drive.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely, no doubts whatsoever.”
“So why are you calling me?” Detective Lopez holds his breath.
“Because this woman lives in your jurisdiction and I thought you might want to look into her background. Maybe she might have information about your killer or about how she gathers information at the very least.”
Rick took a deep breath and asks barely above a whisper, “What’s her name?”
“Emily Stone.”
* * * * *
Chapter Thirty-Six
Monday 1200 Hours
A dark green Honda is parked a few houses down from Emily’s house. Staring straight ahead, the Accomplice sits behind the wheel obscured behind tinted windows. The point of interest is Emily’s house; the occupant waits and watches, while the entire time never averting his gaze.
A young neighborhood woman pushing a baby stroller walks by not paying any attention to the parked car or the occupant. A few cars pass by going to their prospective homes or out for the day. The neighborhood continues to go about the day never knowing that evil was as close as their front yard.
The Accomplice fights to keep his mind in the present. His thoughts wander back to the previous evenings wondrous discovery of death. He can’t stay focused in the present without wishing for the sadistic and exciting rerun to continue in his mind. His hands begin to sweat and slightly tremble with anticipation. He grips the steering wheel a little tighter and rotates his wrists.
The front door opens and Emily exits the house carrying a laptop computer and digital camera bag. Her big dog watches her leave from the large picture window upstairs, steaming up the window with his breath. Emily gets into her Jeep and backs out of the driveway, never noticing the man watching her closely and how difficult it is for him to not walk up to her and snap her neck.
Emily drives off down the street. The green Honda slowly pulls away from the curb and follows her.
* * * * *
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Monday 1300 Hours
Emily has been to Pajaro only a couple of times in the past, usually when she was using it as a short cut to get to one of the other surrounding cities. She is amazed by all of the agricultural fields bursting with many varieties of lettuce, broccoli, artichokes, and strawberries. She drives around to a few areas unsure where the crime scene was precisely located. No one pays her any attention and doesn’t seem to care that she searches for her investigative location of interest.
Emily slowly drives to the old railroad station down a narrow dirt driveway that opens into a field area with a couple of crumbling buildings. Once again, she is taken by the type of location that the killers use to dump a body. All of the locations where the bodies were discovered were planned for a specific reason that drives the serial criminal’s mind. Exactly what that is not known yet.
The overgrown-weeded area looked to be an old abandoned farm with a couple of decaying chicken coops and two dilapidated buildings. Emily feels that there must be some religious significance to the crime scene locations for the killers; not religious in the literal term of the word, but a significant psychological fury of the killing experience in order to bring it to a whole new level.
Emily parks the Jeep about twenty feet from one of the structures and gets out to look around. She views the area where the body was found by the trampling of many police issue boots and remnant pieces of police tape. The body appeared to be out in the open, much more visible than the other two locations. To the east side of the property are extremely tall weeds with old neglected shrubs allowing for some coverage or possible escape routes.
The buildings seem to pique Emily’s interest the most. She carefully approaches the bigger building that has old plywood nailed over where the windows were once located. Gang tagging in the local colors shows artistic marks on any of the available surfaces to view. There’s an unmistakable stench that assaults Emily’s senses of something dead, probably rats or maybe something larger like a cat.
Emily feels somewhat vulnerable without her Beretta in an ankle holster for easy accessibility, but she will be fine only poking around the crime scene area. It’s not like it’s at night in a poverty stricken area. She looks around and listens intently for any close sounds or approaching voices. There’s nothing, not even a bird chirping. The wind is still as well, but the sun beats down drying the weeds to a more brittle existence.
Emily finds the door to the structure open a couple of feet. It looks like the detectives have already searched the building during their investigation, but Emily wants to take a look herself. It has been pried open just wide enough for a person to squeeze inside. There is another window on the other side of the building where the plywood is half missing and lying on the ground. At least there will be some air and a little bit of light from the outside.
Emily pushes the door open with her boot and then goes inside to have a look. There’s some light coming from the cracks around the decaying structure. It looks like the building was used as a sewer rather than storage. The stench was horrific from unknown liquids by each corner. Emily puts her right hand to her nose and mouth, but still moves deeper inside. Something shiny catches her attention on the floor through another doorway. An old pine door leans up against the wall covered with thick cobwebs. She moves through the second opening hoping not to attract spiders or any scurrying varmints.
Upon closer inspection, the shiny object in question is a key charm of a skull and crossbones. Not something that is terribly unique. A teenager could’ve dropped it, but Emily feels that this was left by one of the killers to express his need to poison society with his disease. Or rid society of specific types of victims, like that of a poison used to kill rodents. She picks up the charm and tucks it in her jean pocket.
Emily is interrupted by a slam against the side of the building causing her to jump and gooseflesh to rise on her arms. She turns in the direction of the noise, but before she can see what’s going on the interior completely goes pitch black. The sound of hammering cuts through the darkness, someone was nailing the open window shut. She thought she could hear two soft voices coming from outside. Someone wanted her confined and unable to escape. She didn’t want to just wait and see what they were going to do next. No one could hear her if she screamed, but she knew that was the least of her problems. She backs up against the cool wall to gain her bearings and equilibrium in the darkness. She could feel a slight vibration of her unknown assailants making sure that the window was secure with no possibility of escape. The unknown muffled voices seem to banter back and forth with instructions.
There was a low growl coming from the main room. It started out low and then gradually increased in intensity. There was no mistaking that growl; it was coming from a fierce fighting dog. Emily leans forward in the direction of the doorway and could see a reflection of two canine eyes approaching. She was trapped. If she didn’t get out, she was going to be mauled to death by the dog. There would be another murder at the same crime scene, she thought dryly.
The two voices from outside seem to disappear as quickly as they had started. She thought she heard a car drive away. Her mind reels trying to figure out who would want her dead. No doubt it was same two people who broke into her house in the middle of the night. She reprimands herself harshly for not watching for anyone that might be following her.
The pitch-blackness seemed to brighten slightly with each passing moment as her eyes become somewhat accustomed to the shadows. Emily moves slowly with her back against the wall towards the door opening. She knows that the dog will have some trouble tracking her scent through all of the decaying odors. She is about at the doorway opening when the vicious dog tracks her every move and can smell her terror. It’s only a matter of seconds before the dog makes contact; Emily won’t stand a fighting chance against the powerful jaw and snarling teeth. Her hands are shaking and she can feel her heart pou
nding in her chest with every breath.
She reaches her hand slowly around the frame of the doorway and grasps the old unhinged door. It’s now or never she thinks. Emily grabs the door and braces it in front of her blocking the doorway. The dog pounces toward her with a ghastly growl looking for blood. She holds the doorway strong stopping the dog from entering the room. The dog takes several steps back and then tries to knock the door in toward Emily. Half of the door seems to become wedged in the crumbling doorframe taking some of the weight off of Emily.
Emily spots one of the windows in the room that seems to have daylight shining through the cracks. It may be her imagination, but the cracks seem to be getting bigger. The dog slams against the door again with its muscular body. With every hit, the old boarded up window moves slightly. Emily estimates that she has thirty seconds after she moves from the braced door before the dog breaks through to her. She didn’t remember anything lying around in the room that she could use for a weapon or tool. She’ll have to hope that the window will give way with her bare hands. The dog slams again against the door with a splintering crash.
Taking a deep breath and willing every ounce of energy throughout her body, Emily takes two steps to the window. She kicks hard with a stomp kick twice and the plywood breaks free. She uses her fists to push out the plywood. Daylight pours inside the filthy room. As she begins to climb out the window, she hears the door splinter and bang for the last time. The dog is close on her heels. She jumps out the window, hitting the ground running. She manages to get her hand on her Jeep door handle and looks back at the building. A black and white pit bull effortlessly jumps through the window, clearing the frame, now coming for blood.
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