* * * * *
Chapter Forty-Seven
Friday 1145 Hours
Rick shuffles through an increasing pile of paperwork on his desk not paying any special attention to details or call back requests. His mind keeps returning to Emily. He hadn’t heard from her for two days and she’s not answering her cell phone. Her neighbors don’t know where she went. Most disturbing is that two men wanting to know Emily’s whereabouts attacked them in the middle of the night. It was the same night that Emily came to him searching for support and understanding.
A single thread delicately balances everything, but that thread can break at any moment. That is how the detective feels about everything spiraling out of control in his so-called life. He surmises that Emily is connected to everything in some way, either directly or indirectly. But how, he’s not sure about anything. His feelings for her have definitely clouded his judgment to see things objectively. He’s never met anyone like her before and probably will never again. It hit him deeply when he awoke to find that she wasn’t there beside him. It felt more like a pleasant dream from the night before.
The phone rings at his desk extension and interrupts his nonwork related thoughts. It was a forensic scientist from the San Jose Forensic Laboratory contacting him regarding the last homicide crime scene in Pajaro. It was absolutely unbelievable news, and it couldn’t have come at a better time. The lab was able to get a positive nine-point match on a left index fingerprint of the killer from the duct tape, in addition to blood evidence found at the scene that didn’t belong to the victim. The semen evidence was too diluted and contaminated for any type of identification. But two out of three certainly isn’t bad news.
Rick’s blood immediately runs cold and he can barely breathe. The office seems to be shrinking around him and running out of fresh breathable air. Both positive pieces of evidence from the Pajaro crime scene undeniably pointed just to one suspect. The killer was Donald Everett, Emily’s next-door neighbor.
* * * * *
Several police vehicles and two unmarked detective cars are parked in front of Donald’s house executing a search and arrest warrant. Breaking into the front door to gain entry to the house, uniformed police officers disperse to verify that it’s indeed empty. All is clear.
Rick asks Matt, “Where’s Ken?”
“He’s taking a personal day.” Matt responds.
Rick and Matt begin their search of the house. The crime scene detective begins the search of the downstairs bedrooms by identifying and photographing potential pieces of evidence. Deputy Monahan assists with overall photographs throughout the interior and exterior of the house.
Rick puts an all points bulletin out on Donald Everett with the license plate of his truck and smaller car. He is considered armed and extremely dangerous. It should be cautioned to all law enforcement that when trying to apprehend, the suspect would most likely not be taken in alive.
Matt approaches Rick. “Take a look at this.”
The detective follows Matt to the kitchen table where there are many yellow note pads next to the computer. There is a list of people that Donald wants dead with disturbing crude drawings and incoherent doodles next to each name. The pencil that Donald used was driven so deeply into the paper that several sections of the note pad are imbedded with lead fragments, clearly showing his anger and rage.
Matt continues reading as he flips through several more pages, “I’ve never seen anything like this before, have you?”
Rick studies the writing. “No, but it clearly fits the behavior pattern left by the killer at the crime scene. Be sure to bag everything.”
“You got it.” Matt carefully organizes the written evidence before dropping each note pad into specific evidence bags.
Rick continues to survey the house which has an abundant level of pornography portraying the humiliation and brutalizing of women. But interestingly, there are many photos that have been torn out of wildlife and environmental magazines of birds – specifically the falcon. He ponders why this bird is so important to him. The bird is a fierce hunter with incredible speed and agility. He remembers what Emily had said to him about the killer wanting to become something else. It’s possible that Donald sees himself becoming the peregrine falcon, and that’s why he kills. As twisted as that sounds, it seems like the only logical explanation at the moment to the detective.
Rick takes out his cell phone and tries to call Emily’s house again – no answer. He tries her cell phone again, but it goes directly to her voice mail. He then notices a small piece of paper on the coffee table with Emily’s name on it and how Donald wants to kill her in step-by-step graphic detail. The disturbing images concern Rick even more about Emily’s safety. Before the detective hits the end button on his cell phone, Deputy Monahan approaches him.
“Sir?” Deputy Monahan looks bright-eyed, bursting with important information.
“What’s up Monahan?”
“Sir, there’s a freezer in the garage.” He hesitates, “It’s leaking.”
Rick follows the deputy to the cluttered garage where one body can barely move around. In one corner there’s an old chest freezer with tattered boxes stacked on top. There’s a padlock securing the freezer. From one corner drips a sticky dark fluid.
Rick instructs Monahan, “Cut it.”
He removes several boxes as the deputy uses bolt cutters to easily snap the lock free from the freezer. Matt joins the group to view the freezer contents with various types of evidence bags and containers.
With only a slight hesitation, Rick flips the latch up and opens the chest freezer. Sitting directly on top of multiple plastic wrapped contents is a single severed woman’s arm. It looked fresh from a week or two. Rick had little doubt that this arm would belong to anyone else except the female victim in Pajaro. It eerily waits to be added to another murder crime scene as it seems to stare back at the police officers.
Rick instructs, “Monahan get several shots of this.” He waits while Deputy Monahan takes several photographs for documentation.
Matt prepares to collect the appendage evidence for transport. He carefully begins to unfold the heavy plastic to reveal a torso, detached head, one severed arm, and severed legs of what appears to be an unidentified dark haired woman. It’s unclear if the body parts belong to one person.
“God, I wonder if this is one person or multiple victims?” Matt ponders aloud.
“We won’t know until the medical examiner confirms the identity or identities.” Rick takes a step back to allow Deputy Monahan to continue with photo documentation.
Rick has a new sense of urgency in this serial murder case. The good news is that they have identified the serial killer, but the bad news is that he’s now hunting Emily.
* * * * *
Chapter Forty-Eight
Friday 1630 Hours
Rick’s exhaustion has finally begun to take hold of his body and mind. He hasn’t been able to stop and enjoy the fact that the serial murder case has been solved, but rather he dreads the finality of what is yet to come. His limbs feel heavy and fatigued. His eyes are gritty like he has picked up fine sand granules that are trying to flush his tear ducts. No one would fault him for taking a break or a day off. Still, he decides to stop at the Sheriff’s Center at the local shopping center.
Rick sits in his car for several minutes getting his thoughts together before going into the office. His mind is on complete overload with all of the information that has been exposed. In actuality, he’s the one that feels extremely exposed. It’s Friday and the day as well as the week is almost over, but he decides to investigate one more thing that has been plaguing him before he leaves for the day.
He enters the deserted office and sits down at a desk in the back. He plugs in his laptop computer and accesses the criminal justice database. Within a few minutes, he types in the name Emily Stone and her approximate date of birth. He continues to enter all of the pertinent information and waits for a response.
Rick smel
ls old coffee that hasn’t been sitting around too long in the office. He decides to brave it and pour himself a cup. The officer that was just here barely had enough time to turn the coffee maker off before responding to a call.
Rick sits down at stares at the computer screen which seems to take an eternity to cough up any information. Several strings of information finally scroll across the screen about Emily. The most interesting information that captured his attention was from Valparaiso, Indiana. Rick realizes that many things make sense about Emily, and he now knows why she seems to have a gift for criminal profiling and crime scenes. Emily Stone was a Deputy Sheriff for the Porter County Sheriff’s Office for six years. Then all of her information dropped off the radar for more than four years – until now.
Emily was born and raised in Indiana. Her parents were killed in robbery when she was twelve. She was then sent to live with her uncle here in California and moved back to Indiana after college to become a police officer. It looks as if she moved back here after she resigned and after the death of her uncle. She inherited his moderate estate and home in which she still resides.
Rick is too tired to be entirely surprised by Emily’s background. He felt a definite kinship with her and now he knows why, being a fellow cop. It’s still a mystery as to why she resigned from the police department and moved out here. There’s still just as many unanswered questions as there are answered. Rick digs through her records a little bit more and finds out that her sergeant as well as the person who was listed as an emergency number in her employment records was Sergeant Mike Sullivan.
* * * * *
Chapter Forty-Nine
Friday 1700 Hours
Donald has been traveling east on California Interstate 680 as the police were searching his house. He was unaware that his fingerprint and blood were found at the Pajaro crime scene, obviously because of his sloppy murdering workmanship. His only priority now is to find Emily and kill her and anyone else who dares to get in his path. This inconvenience of driving to the state of Indiana is all her fault. Her meddling and indignation will soon be her downfall as she gasps her last breaths of this life. He should have killed her that night while she was sleeping. The thought of her suffering has heightened his energy level, which had been dwindling fast over the past few days. His Accomplice rides silently next to him feeling his intense killing energy.
The traffic is heavy and slow moving as he reaches Sacramento during the after work commuting hours. Donald decides to pull off to get something to eat. Both Killers have an almost insatiable appetite, which hardly ever goes completely away. There is a restaurant with few cars in the parking lot that looked like a good place to spend an hour. The small out of the way diner serves up greasy hamburgers with all of the fixings, and pork chops were the special of the day. The men had hamburgers piled high with the works, French fries, onion rings, and several Cokes. They stuffed their bodies to help suppress their compulsion to kill. They must save up their energies to torture and kill Emily in the appropriate amount of time. They ate in silence.
When Donald and the Accomplice were done with their dinner, they exited out the back door to the parking lot. The sound of bottles breaking on the pavement rattles the calm silence. The Killers stop for a moment, look at one another, and then decide to investigate. At the far end of the parking lot sit two junked out abandoned vehicles. The windows have been smashed out and some red and black gang graffiti marks one of the passenger’s doors with distinct territories. Two rusted dumpsters with an abundance of juvenile tagging are tucked in behind the cars. A scraggly, gray-haired homeless man searches through the dumpsters looking for bottles and cans. He has two large garbage bags filled halfway with his recovered, recycled loot.
The homeless man mumbles something to himself as he continues with his tedious quest. He didn’t even have a chance to look up to see the large hunting knife expertly pierce his heart. The Accomplice retracts the knife with the efficiency of a sushi chef. The homeless man drops to the ground with a profound look on his face, an almost peaceful expression. Blood begins to seep from the dying man’s mouth. Donald and the Accomplice stand over him and watch him slowly die, his life recedes slowly away as he takes his last two breaths.
Donald feels a new sense of positive energy as he helps the Accomplice heave the dead man into one of the dumpsters and slams the lid. This trip might not be so bad, he thought. There are some definite perks to satisfy him along the way. It will be good therapy for him to relieve some of his boiling energy by killing some interesting victims in various towns.
The Killers get into the car and proceed to leave Sacramento. Donald continues his journey of discovery and takes the California Interstate 80 heading east.
The Killers are coming.
* * * * *
Chapter Fifty
Saturday 0900 Hours
Rick was lucky enough to get a flight departing at nine last night from San Jose to Chicago. He would have to drive the rest of the way if he was going to meet Sergeant Mike Sullivan in person. He had no doubts that Emily was staying nearby and hopefully the sergeant would accommodate his request to find out her precise whereabouts.
It takes approximately an hour to an hour and a half if traffic is running smoothly to cross over the Indiana border on Interstate 90. Rick drives his Ford rental car with accelerated speed and heads for Valparaiso – namely the Porter County Sheriff’s Office.
As Rick drives toward the Sheriff’s Office located on State Road, he reflects on everything that has happened the past couple of weeks. He knows that he should be absolutely relieved and excited that he solved the serial murder case before there were more innocent victims. It’s not over yet, and he knows that there will be more victims that he can’t do anything about and that troubles him deeply. The plan is to head Donald off before there is more loss of life.
Fast moving rain clouds appear to be moving from the east and a few sprinkles mist the detective’s windshield. He hopes that the weather holds just a little bit longer before the big storm strikes.
* * * * *
Just off the main street a white Toyota Camry is parked along the side of the road with a flat rear left tire. An elderly woman stands away from the road dressed in a raincoat waiting patiently. She pulls her coat tighter around her neck in anticipation of the imminent rain. A Sheriff’s patrol car with the trunk open is parked behind the stranded vehicle. Sergeant Mike Sullivan has just retrieved a jack from his patrol car and is in the process of changing the flat tire. Road side service is backed up and will take at least two hours to respond, so the sergeant decided to take on the task personally.
Mike motions to the elderly woman. “Have a seat in the patrol car. It’s going to pour any minute.”
The elderly woman moves toward the police car relieved to be out of the weather. “Thank you.” Mike makes sure she’s safely in the passenger seat before he shuts the door.
Rick eases his rental car behind the police vehicle and parks. The Sheriff’s Office advised him the sergeant’s patrol area. He realizes that the stocky sergeant is preparing to change a tire. That was definitely not something that the Santa Cruz County Sheriff’s Office would be seen doing – especially in the pouring rain.
The sky becomes darker and more ominous in preparation of a serious rainstorm by every passing minute. Rick zips up his leather jacket and turns up his collar. He opens his car door and walks toward the sergeant who is jacking up the car. He sees the woman seated in the patrol car anxiously waiting.
Rick stops ten feet from the sergeant and asks, “Sergeant Sullivan?”
Mike stands up and faces Rick. “What can I do for you?” He scrutinizes Rick and instantly sums up that he’s not from Valparaiso or any surrounding big city in the area.
Rick continues, “I’m Rick Lopez, actually Detective Rick Lopez from the Santa Cruz Sheriff’s Office in California. I’m trying to track down Emily Stone.” He waits expectantly as the sergeant regards him cautiously.
“
Well Detective Rick Lopez of the Santa Cruz Sheriff’s Office in California, can you change a tire?”
“What?” Rick couldn’t believe what he just heard from the sergeant.
“Can you change a tire?”
“Well sure but.”
“Good.” He hands Rick the tire iron. “You’d better get moving before the storm hits.”
Rick didn’t want to discourage the sergeant from giving him any information, so he takes the tire iron and begins loosening the lug nuts on the wheel. The fine mist begins to turn to a light consistent rain making the tire iron slippery and unwieldy in the detective’s hands.
Mike asks, “What makes you think that Emily Stone is here?”
Rick stops for a moment. “A hunch.”
“Keep working.” He makes a gesture in the air for Rick to keep twisting the tire iron. “You California detectives get a lot of hunches?”
Rick had no other choice, but to play along. “Sometimes. And sometimes we actually solve a case or two.”
“Ah, but how often do you really get your hands dirty assisting the public?”
Rick finishes the last lug nut. “Obviously not often enough.” He notices the sergeant’s shirt is untucked and there’s grease on his left pant leg.
Mike takes the spare tire out of the Camry’s trunk and rolls it toward the detective. It now begins to rain. He then takes the old tire and puts it into the trunk.
For a moment to two, both police officers stare at one another in a law enforcement, different jurisdiction, cop standoff. Rick is beginning to get really wet and uncomfortable. He can feel the rain soaking through his shoes.
(2008) Compulsion Page 13