Had Karen ever seen the man’s face? Did she even know what hit her?
Of course she did. He got his thrills from the things he did before the murder. She was certain he’d tormented Karen first, the way he’d tormented Megan. Surely he’d realized it wasn’t her, Megan, as he’d bludgeoned Karen to death. Had his anger at Megan’s escape cost Karen her life?
Megan supposed he was committed to murder the moment he crossed the threshold. He’d probably waited hours, then gone to the apartment to see if Megan had somehow made it home. He’d found Karen asleep in her bed, her Bible on her bed table.
You good Christian girls…so innocent…so naive.
He had come determined to kill someone. Now Karen’s death wouldn’t satisfy him. He’d have to come back for the girl who could identify him.
“Honey, are you all right?”
Her mother had been weepy since she’d arrived from New York. The attack on her daughter may as well have been an attack on her. She hadn’t slept since Megan called them with the news. She’d sat by Megan’s side every day, every moment, refusing to shower or walk downstairs to the cafeteria. “I’m okay,” she said, but it was a lie. As the nurse rolled her through the automatic double doors to the outside, Megan’s heart raced. Her lungs grew heavy, tight, and she thought they would explode.
Panic. She was a sitting duck, visible to anyone who had her in his sights.
Her dad was waiting in the red minivan with the Hertz sticker. If the killer was watching, it would be too easy to follow. Why had he gotten a red one?
She couldn’t breathe.
Her dad got out and opened the side door. “Come on, honey, let’s get you in.”
They moved the foot rests to the side, coaxed her to her good leg. She stood, trembling. Her head swirled and her vision strobed from black to bright. When the dizziness faded, she looked beyond the car to the parking lot, and the hill beyond. Was he there, waiting for her?
Another car pulled up behind her dad’s, and she jumped and almost fell. But a woman sat behind the wheel.
“Come on, honey, put your arm around my neck.” Her dad helped her to the car and she slid in. “Do you want to lie down?”
Yes, that would keep her out of sight. “Guess so,” she said. Her mother ran around the car and opened the opposite door, put her pillow in, and eased her down. On the other side, her father took another pillow from the cart with the few things she’d accumulated while in the hospital, and propped her leg.
They loaded the things on the cart into the van, then closed the doors. Her mother sat in one of the seats in front of Megan, as her father got into the driver’s seat. Megan closed her eyes and prayed that God would protect them.
The ride was silent, except for her mother’s sniffing.
“I need to go to my apartment and get my things,” Megan said.
“No, not now,” her mother said. “Your father will go and pack everything you have. Don’t worry.”
“Where will he put it? I don’t have another place to live.” The words brought the sorrow back. So much of her life was changing.
Her mother turned in her seat and looked back at Megan. “Honey, we want you to come home. You need to be with us to recover.”
“Mom, we’ve talked about this.”
“Just lay out this semester and you can finish in the fall.”
“I can’t,” she said. “I have a job lined up. I’m starting it in June. They expect me to have my degree by then.”
“But school starts in a couple of days. You’re not in any shape to get around campus.”
“I can’t let him take everything away from me. He’s done enough. I still have a future. A plan. I can’t change it now.”
“Honey, there’ll be other jobs.”
“I want this one.” The editing job at a New York publisher was her dream job. She’d spent last summer interning at HarperCollins, and they’d offered her the permanent job in Editorial on her last day. She’d looked forward to it since then. She couldn’t wait to finish school and start working.
“You could transfer to a school closer to home.”
“No, Mom. Most colleges don’t take transfer credits unless you have at least two years’ worth of courses left to take. I only have one semester left.”
Her mother’s protests fell silent. “We’ll talk about it later.”
Megan lay on the car seat, staring at the cloth ceiling. “I need to call Karen’s parents.”
“You can do that when we get settled in the hotel.”
“I want to go to her memorial service tonight.”
Her mother turned around again. “Are you sure, honey?”
“Yes, absolutely sure. She would have been there for me.”
As she said those words, she closed her eyes and struggled to hold back the tears overtaking her. Her battle wasn’t over. She knew it had just begun.
Twenty-two
Karen Anders’ memorial service was held on the quad at Rice University, because there wasn’t a church, funeral home, or other venue big enough to accommodate the thousands of students who wanted to come. Megan got there fifteen minutes before the service and agreed to let her parents push her in a wheelchair. Without it she’d be standing for most of the service.
Her friends were waiting on the curb, and they all rallied around the car as she got out.
When she was settled in the wheelchair, her friend Brennie came toward her, her face over-bright, as if she hoped her fake smile would lighten Megan’s mood. Each day since she learned of the attack, Brennie had spent hours at the hospital, full of chatter to distract Megan. But now and then her grief spilled out.
She leaned over and hugged Megan. “I love you, girl. We’re gonna get through this.”
Megan wasn’t so sure. “Are Karen’s parents here?”
“Yes, they want to see you. They’re at the front. I’ll take you to them.”
Before they moved, other friends gave her quiet hugs, pats on the shoulder, tearful smiles. Her ex-boyfriend, who’d moved on to a dance major, was misty-eyed. “I’m praying for you, Meg. You’re gonna bounce back. You’re a strong person.”
She wanted to scream. Brennie took the wheelchair from Megan’s mother and pushed it through the crowd. As people stared at her and gasped, Megan felt a rising sense of shame. They all knew what had happened to her, that she’d been violated…
Would anyone ever look at her the same? As she rolled past, her mother and father beside her, some reached out to give her a reassuring touch. Others whispered to their friends.
She scanned the faces as she cut through the crowd. Was her attacker here? Did he dare come here, when he knew she could identify him? But it was night, and she wasn’t likely to see him if he blended into the crowd.
The closed coffin lay on the podium. Megan was grateful that she wouldn’t have to view Karen’s injuries. Did she look as battered as Megan? Was her face smashed? Her jaw broken? Had he snapped bones before he raped and murdered her?
Karen’s parents stood on the grass in front of the podium, accepting hugs and condolences from the line of people waiting to speak to them. She saw the strain on their pale faces, the looks of anguish. Like her, they probably wanted to run away before this final ceremony was held.
Brennie pushed her to the front of the line, and Karen’s parents saw them coming. Extracting themselves from those wanting to speak to them, they bent down and clung to her. “Oh, Megan,” Karen’s mother said. “Look what he did to you.”
“I’m okay,” she said. “I’ll recover. But I’m so sorry…about Karen. I tried to warn her. I called over and over.”
“We know you did,” Karen’s father whispered in her ear. “We heard all your frantic messages. He just got to her too soon.”
The guitar music on the stage began, signaling that the funeral was about to begin. The candles they’d all been given as they arrived were lit, and a soft glow painted the faces of the mourners.
Karen and Megan’s pas
tor preached the service, and told about Karen’s sweet heart in ministering to the poor by working at the local soup kitchen once a month. She’d also spent summers as a counselor at a camp for those with cerebral palsy. He told of how she’d dreamed of being a missionary, and how she’d led four people to Christ on her last mission trip to Mexico.
Megan wondered if he’d been told that the killer targeted Christians. Had Karen gotten a martyr’s reward when she entered the gates of heaven?
Pastor Mike looked down at Megan and the students standing around her. “Megan, I know from talking to you that you have guilt feelings about this senseless, unbelievable tragedy. But Karen wouldn’t want you to suffer in that way. She wouldn’t want you to give that man the satisfaction of your self-torment. This was not your fault.”
Megan squeezed her eyes closed, shunning comfort.
“Mr. and Mrs. Anders, what Karen would want is for you to know that she’s in a place more beautiful and miraculous than anything we could imagine on earth. And in heaven, time doesn’t pass like it does here. Let her have her joy, and be assured that before she knows it, she’ll be with her family and friends again.”
The group of friends who did everything together held hands in a grief-stricken chain as they stood around the wheelchair, and Megan’s own parents looked like they might fall apart. As the sermon finished and the praise band led them in a praise chorus, Megan stayed silent. She couldn’t open her mouth wide enough to sing, and besides, she didn’t have a song in her. She was tired…exhausted…and in pain that racked through every nerve of her body.
But she would go to the burial ceremony no matter what it cost her. She would be there for Karen now, even if she wasn’t there for her before.
Twenty-three
The candlelight memorial service for Karen Anders was underway when David got to Rice University. He pulled into the parking lot adjacent to the quad, and saw what looked like thousands of students assembled there. He got out of his car, slid his hands into his pockets, and walked toward the crowd.
A friend of Karen was on the stage telling stories about her, and kids wiped their eyes and hugged each other.
David didn’t hear the words. He hadn’t come here to listen. He’d come because this perverted killer was the type who fed on the suffering he caused. He would have come here and pretended to care, watched the faces of other potential victims, stalked more prey.
David’s gaze touched on one face after another, searching for someone who looked out of place.
He saw several people his own age, their faces illuminated by the candles they held. Megan said he was in his forties…brown hair…220 pounds…five-ten or eleven. David scanned the crowd, looking for anyone who fit that description.
And then he saw him…a man standing on the outskirts of the crowd, not holding a candle. His back was to David, so he couldn’t see the man’s face. He stood with his hands in his jacket pockets, as though the service didn’t move him.
David moved closer to him, and in the glow of the security light overhead, he saw the writing on his jacket.
Emerson High School.
Ella’s school!
David’s heart stumbled as he moved closer. The man’s face came into view. It was Ralph Krebbs, Ella’s history teacher, who also went to their church. He was a deacon and Sunday school teacher, and the basketball coach of the girls’ church league. He had brown hair, looked to be about five-eleven…probably around 220 pounds.
Instant hatred registered in David’s chest, locking in his certainty that he was the one. Of course. Why hadn’t he seen it before? He wasn’t just some nice guy who cared about the spiritual lives of his students and players. No, he was a pervert, a stalker. He was capable of horrible things.
Though it was forty degrees, David broke out in a sweat.
Someone got on the stage with a guitar and sang the chorus of “The Anchor Holds.” As candles flickered and tears glistened, David knew what he had to do.
When the service broke up, David watched as the teacher spoke to a few students. Several girls came up to Krebbs with hugs. As he watched, David clamped his teeth so tight that his jaw ached. He fought the urge to run up to them and warn the girls to get away from him, that he might be a hardened and cold-blooded killer, and that if they weren’t careful, one of them could be his next victim.
As Krebbs started back to his car, David followed at a distance. He saw him get into a blue F-150 pickup, in a different parking lot than David had parked in. As Krebbs started his truck, David hurried back to his own car. He pulled out in traffic, desperately trying to see the F-150, but he’d lost him.
He wiped the sweat on his forehead with his sleeve and called information. “Houston, Texas,” he said to the automated voice. “Ralph Krebbs.”
He waited as a human came on and helped him figure out which Ralph Krebbs it was. When he was pretty sure he’d gotten the right number—one with the same prefix he had at home—he got the address.
It was only a few blocks from his house, and two blocks from Sinbad’s, where Ella was last seen.
It had to be him. Why hadn’t he thought of it before?
He found his way to the right street, and drove slowly down it, looking at mailboxes and counting down to Krebbs’ house. What did he know about the man? He was single, middle-aged, no children of his own. Put on a nice-guy act at church, had everybody fooled. Even David had been fooled.
He saw the house then, and there was the blue pickup sitting in the carport. He must have just gotten home.
David pulled his car to the curb outside the house and sat there for a moment, staring toward the lit windows, wondering if Krebbs was online now, stalking his next unsuspecting victim.
David thought of just calling the police, but what would he tell them? That Krebbs looked suspicious at the service? That he fit the profile? That he had access to these young girls? That they might have trusted him?
No, they’d blow it off and say there was no evidence. But David didn’t have time for a nice clean case, while Krebbs murdered more young girls.
But he didn’t have a weapon. All he had were his bare hands. Though it felt like enough, he knew Krebbs was bigger than he was. If Krebbs overpowered him, this opportunity to expose him would be wasted. He wasn’t afraid for himself, but he couldn’t risk Krebbs getting away with any evidence.
Instead of killing him, he’d go in his house like an unannounced guest and find the evidence he needed.
It was time to act.
He got out of his car and crossed the grass. Biting his lip, he reached the front door. Blood pumped into his fingers, strength and danger into his hands.
He knocked on the door.
He heard the sound of a TV, heard footsteps as Krebbs crossed the room. He heard the bolt being turned, the door creaking open.
Krebbs looked out at him and smiled. “David…”
David didn’t recognize his own voice. “I need to talk to you,” he said.
Twenty-four
Krebbs stepped back from the door, inviting David in. “Of course we can talk. I was just thinking about you.”
As he closed the door, David’s molars ground. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yes. I was at that girl’s funeral at Rice.”
“Karen,” David said. “Her name is Karen.”
“Right.” Krebbs gestured for him to sit on the couch, but David kept standing. “Her poor parents. I thought of you and Krista, what you must be going through.”
It almost looked authentic. David looked around the room for anything that could confirm his suspicions. But Krebbs was a neat freak. Nothing lay out of place.
“David, I heard about a grief support group at a Presbyterian church—I can’t remember which one, but I can find out if you think you’d be interested.”
David rubbed his stubbled jaw. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”
“Okay, I understand. When you’re ready…”
David forced himself to look at the ma
n. “I’ve just been trying to create a time line. I wondered, when was the last time you saw Ella?”
Krebbs’ gaze darted away. “Had to be at church, the Sunday before she disappeared.”
David saw the computer on the desk in the living room. The screen saver flashed different personal photographs every few seconds. He watched as the girls’ basketball team filled the screen. Slowly, he stepped toward it.
“My Sunday school lesson that day was about how Satan roams around looking for someone to devour…”
The screen saver picture changed, and he saw Krebbs standing with his arm around Ella. She was in her basketball jersey, a trusting smile on her face.
Fury erupted in his chest. Setting his chin, David reached out and moved the mouse. A GrapeVyne page sprang to life, Karen Anders’ face in the upper corner. His mouth fell open.
“David, that picture was taken at our last game.”
David turned and lunged. Krebbs fell as David got his hands around his throat. Krebbs fought him off, clawing his neck to loosen David’s grip.
“You killed her, didn’t you, you slimy piece of garbage!”
Krebbs’ voice was strained and shredded. “No, David! Stop!”
He was bigger than David, stronger, and he managed to flip David over and break his grip. David grabbed his hair, and kneed his groin, pulled him to his side, and was on top of him again.
“She trusted you,” he spat. “You betrayed her and raped her.”
He couldn’t get his hands around Krebbs’ neck again, so he grabbed his red face. Veins bulged out.
Krebbs kept his chin pressed to his chest. “I didn’t do it, David!” He hit David, threw him off, and slid across the floor to a table by the door. He got a drawer open as David threw himself at him again.
Krebbs pulled out a gun and flipped around, slid away from him. “Get back, David.”
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