Alan turned and shook his head.
“No—we need Dave to show up with the face in his pictures.”
Alan had briefly considered the fake photo tactic before and rejected it. Dave needed to present a front that was as sincere and genuine as possible. If he presented an obviously false front, the killer would immediately suspect an agenda—even if she had no initial inkling that Dave was connected to law enforcement.
Most men on dating sites were not dangerous in the same way that Lilith was dangerous. Few of them, moreover, would be a match for the killer.
Still, the killer would reject any male target who appeared too cagey or cautious. She (or he, or they) would likewise reject a man who seemed to be running a scheme of his own.
Based on the previous two murders, Lilith gravitated toward targets who were sincere, shy—and fatally naïve, for thirtysomething men. Such men would present themselves on a dating site in an honest, unguarded manner. They wouldn't post fake photographs.
“You don’t need to email any blondes,” Alan said.
“I wasn't emailing any blondes,” Dave objected, to Maribel’s delight. There was more laughter from her side of the room.
“Lilith has always presented herself as a brunette, and there’s no reason to believe that she’s changed her hair color.”
“I didn't think that she had.”
“No blondes,” Alan repeated.
That night, though, Dave did receive an email from a woman who fit all the superficial markers of Lilith: She listed her age as thirty-three, and she had long brunette hair.
Dave called Alan at home on his cell phone. Alan was hunched over his kitchen table, attempting to help Frances with her math homework. He was having a difficult time recalling the intricacies of quadratic equations.
“We really need to get your mother involved,” Alan said, just before the call came in from Dave. “She’s a lot better at this stuff.”
“I heard my name!” Vicki called from the living room.
When his phone rang, Alan checked the number and immediately excused himself, presenting his daughter with the grave facial expression and gentle hand gestures that often accompanied evening calls about his work.
“I’m here,” Alan said. He listened while Dave gave him the details of the woman who had sent him her phone number.
“Did you run a check on the number yet?” Alan asked.
“Sure did. It traced to a burner.”
“What about her profile pic?”
“That’s the best part. The photos she used belong to a model named Anka Prusinski. Prusinski is a minor player globally, but fairly well known in the local Warsaw modeling scene, from what I was able to determine.”
“And now she’s in Cincinnati, looking for the love of her life on a dating site,” Alan said. “Yeah, you’re right; she sounds like Lilith.”
“Oh, and she told me her name is ‘Lisa’.”
“Close enough,” Alan said. “Have you called her yet?”
“Not yet. Oh—there was one other thing: She claims to be a single mother.”
That detail struck Alan as a bit unusual. Alan had not been on the dating scene for many, many years; but he knew that single mothers sometimes had a difficult time finding the right partners. Many men—especially younger ones who had never been married—simply weren’t interested in getting involved with a woman who already had another man’s children. And from what Alan had heard through the grapevine over the years, those situations were almost always complicated, even when they did work out.
“If memory serves me, the other profiles we traced to Lilith didn't say anything about her being a single mother, did they?”
“No. But Lisa’s profile didn't spell that out, either. She told me once we started communicating on the site’s private messaging system.”
“That’s a new twist, but the rest of the profile fits Lilith perfectly. Go ahead and call her. Do you remember what we talked about regarding that?”
Alan had coached Dave to be friendly, but brief and to the point when he set up any “dates” with suspects from the dating websites. It was important to remember that any one of them could be the killer. The killer—whoever she, he, or they were—had already killed three times and avoided detection. This suggested a high level of cautiousness. Above all, Dave shouldn't succumb to the temptation to interview the suspect over the phone. That would be done later, if appropriate, in person.
“I remember everything you told me.”
“Good. Set something up for Wednesday night if you can get her to agree. Pick one of the locations that we talked about, depending on where she lives, or claims to live.”
“She mentioned in our online banter that she lives in Covington.”
Covington was on the far side of the Ohio River, technically in Kentucky, but still considered to be part of the Cincinnati area.
“Pompilios, then,” Alan said. “I hope you’re in the mood for Italian.”
The call terminated, Alan rejoined his daughter in the kitchen. He was relieved to see that Vicki had taken over for him on the homework help.
“You’ll get a better grade if your mother helps you,” he told Frances.
She smiled, in a way that made her resemble her mother, almost uncannily so.
“Was that really police work, Dad? It sounded like you were planning a dinner date.”
“Sometimes police work involves dinner dates.”
“Undercover stuff?”
“Something like that.”
“Yeah, right,” Frances said, raising her eyebrows. Vicki tapped the algebra textbook that lay open on the table. Frances let the matter drop. She had an exam tomorrow, second period.
Frances and Emily idolized their father, but neither of them had ever displayed much interest in the details of his job. And that was fine with Alan. His work routinely involved the deeds of society’s worst predators. Lilith was by no means the worst of the lot, but Lilith was bad enough. Alan had no desire to bring her into his home—even in the most indirect way.
24.
Dave arrived at Pompilios a little before his scheduled meeting time with ‘Lisa’—which was 6:30 p.m.
Lisa had readily agreed to the Wednesday evening dinner. Per Alan’s instructions, Dave had been brief, like a somewhat introverted man would be when talking over the phone with a woman he didn't know well.
Lisa had brightened at the mention of Pompilios. “You mean that place where they filmed Rain Man?” she asked, referring to the 1988 movie starring Dustin Hoffman and Tom Cruise.
“Well, at least one scene,” Dave allowed. “But yes, that’s the place.”
Sitting in one of the red-upholstered booths at Pompilios, Dave had no trouble acting the part of a mildly nervous man on a first date. He was nervous not because he was worried about the impression he would make—but because the woman who would enter the restaurant and sit down opposite him in a few minutes might have killed three people, and possibly more.
Pompilios was housed in a hundred-year-old red brick building in the inner-city section of northern Kentucky known as Newport. As recently as the 1980s, Newport had been home to a large number of brothels and illegal casinos, giving it a reputation as the Cincinnati area’s “sin city”. But later in the decade, around the time a scene from Rain Man was filmed there, the town fathers had embarked on an effort toward law-and-order and gentrification.
Dave had taken the side of the booth that allowed him to observe the entrance. He knew that Alan and Maribel would be outside throughout the entire meeting. They were each parked in an unmarked car—Alan on the adjacent street, Maribel directly across the street.
They would also be listening to every word: Dave was wearing a tiny microphone in the lapel of his fashionably casual sport coat.
This was therefore about as safe as undercover police work on a serial murder case could get. But what if Lisa was, in fact, ‘Lilith’? That would mean that she was a sociopath, at the very least. And w
hat if she decided to go out in a blaze of glory, gunning down Dave and herself here in the restaurant?
Dave took a deep breath and steadied himself. That scenario didn't fit Lilith’s previous crimes or likely profile at all. He was talking himself into a panic.
She walked in barely a minute later. She wasn't Anka Prusinski, obviously, but she was thin, in her early thirties, and she had long dark hair. She scanned the room as she walked into the restaurant. When her gaze landed on Dave she stopped and smiled tentatively.
She then made a beeline over to Dave’s booth.
“Don?” she asked, addressing Dave by his online alias.
“Sure am,” Dave said, doing his best to smile. “Lisa?”
Lisa nodded vigorously. “Yes! It’s me.”
Dave stood, as would be appropriate under the circumstances, and shook Lisa’s hand. He wondered if the hand he was shaking had been used, of late, to end three men’s lives.
“Have a seat.” Dave waited until Lisa had sat down before he slid back into the booth.
Lisa appeared to take in the surroundings appreciatively, though this might have been part of the ruse—if Lisa was indeed Lilith. The real killer would play true to form. And Dave had been on enough awkward first dates in real life to know that he should expect a bit of inevitable small talk about the meeting location.
“I love this place,” she said. “So much atmosphere.”
Dave nodded in agreement. Pompilios was indeed overflowing with atmosphere: There was an antique wood bar, vintage pattern tile on the floor, and high ceilings.
“Do you remember the movie scene filmed here? Dustin Hoffman’s character counting all those toothpicks?”
“Vaguely,” Dave said. He had seen the movie Rain Man only once, and that had been many years ago.
“First of all,” she said, touching her chin with two fingers, “you might have noticed that I’m not the woman in my online profile.”
Dave’s mind scrambled: What would a man do on a real first date in these circumstances?
“Well, I did sort of notice that,” Dave said. It was obvious, really, and she was admitting it. So why pretend otherwise?
“Wait,” she said, pursing her lips and holding up one admonitory finger. “There’s a reason. So please don’t freak out.”
Dave maintained his best poker face. There was any number of reasons why he might freak out here.
“It’s my daughter,” she said.
“Your daughter?”
“Well, she’s all embarrassed about her mother doing the online dating thing.”
Dave must have returned a puzzled look, because Lisa immediately followed this up with: “She’s only fourteen. You know how girls are at that age. She says, ‘What if my friends see you? That’s so lame—online dating.’ I tell her, ‘Your friends shouldn't be on a dating site for adults in the first place.”
“Of course.” Dave gave her an obligatory nod.
Right after that was settled, the waiter arrived with two glasses of ice water and two menus. They did not talk much while they perused the menus. Dave ordered the Classic Italian Sampler, and Lisa ordered the Linguine Chicken Cacciatore.
She could still be Lilith, Dave thought, ignoring what his instincts were telling him: that the woman seated across the table from him could not possibly be a serial killer, nor the accomplice of a serial killer.
Nevertheless, Lilith had done something to gain the trust of her three previous victims. While Lisa’s self-effacing routine was very disarming, it might all be contrived. Dave reminded himself to remain on guard.
They were just digging into their entrees when a young female voice called out, “Mom!”
Lisa turned, horrified, to look at the teenage girl who had entered the restaurant without either of them noticing her. The girl was a miniature version of Lisa: the same nose and eyes, the same long dark hair.
“Tammy! What—what are you doing here?”
“I’m sorry, Mom.”
The girl—Tammy—stood beside the table, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Whatever the issue was, she seemed to realize that her presence here made everyone—herself included—feel awkward.
“I don’t have my key.”
“How can you not have your key?” Lisa exhaled laboriously.
“I’m telling you, Mom: I must have walked out without it this morning.”
Flustered, Lisa turned to Dave, then back to Tammy.
“Tammy, say hello to my friend Don.”
“Nice to meetcha,” Tammy said, giving Dave the slightest tilt of her forehead.
“And Don, this is my daughter, Tammy, who can’t seem to keep track of her key.”
“It’s not like I lost it,” Tammy protested.
“Well, how do you know if you don’t have it?”
This back-and-forth continued for a few more minutes while Dave waited, his knife and fork resting on either side of his plate. Finally Lisa removed her key ring from her purse and removed her house key.
“If you lose this one, too, we’ll have no way to get in the house tonight, and we’ll have to sleep on the street. Do you have a way to get home? Don’t tell me you walked all the way from Covington.”
“Ashley’s mom is going to pick me up,” she said over her shoulder. “And I didn't lose my key, Mom.”
“I’ll be home later!” Lisa called after her. “Get your homework done!”
After the girl had gone, Dave reached for his fork again, but Lisa buried her face in her hands.
“I can’t believe this,” she said. “I’m so embarrassed!”
“Don’t be,” Dave reassured her. “I actually kind of—enjoyed—meeting your daughter.”
“Really?” Lisa brightened.
“Sure.”
Lisa reached across the table and demurely touched Dave on the hand. “You’re such a nice guy. Would you—would you believe that I haven’t been on a date in fifteen years? My husband—my ex-husband that is—we only split up last year. Fifteen years. Can you believe that?”
Dave merely smiled, not knowing what to say. He had no trouble believing that this woman had been long removed from the singles scene.
He was also now convinced that the woman sitting across from him could not have any connection to Lilith. There was no question about it. The rest of her mannerisms could be explained away, but even the most devious serial killer would be unable to coax a fourteen-year-old girl into pulling off an act like that so credibly.
The agonizing first date—which was not really a first date at all—came to an end shortly after that. They parted on the sidewalk just outside the restaurant.
“You’re such a nice guy,” Lisa repeated. “Are you going to call me again?”
“Sure I will.” Dave was feeling guilty now. He wanted to come clean, wanted to tell Lisa that she had unluckily stumbled into an undercover police operation. But he knew he couldn't do that—not yet, at least.
Dave extended his hand, which Lisa gripped and briefly squeezed. She was about to walk away, when she suddenly leaned into Dave and kissed him hard, on the lips.
“You’d better call me again, Don,” Lisa said, walking away.
“I will,” Dave said, a little dumbstruck, though in a pleasant way. Of all the outcomes he had anticipated tonight, this had not been among them.
He felt someone grab his arm. Alan.
“How did I do?” Dave asked.
“Stud,” Alan said. “I saw the way she planted one on you. You know, you do a lot better with women as Don.”
“Where’s Maribel?”
“I cut her loose for the evening. I don’t think we’ll be needing her as backup. Do you?”
“No. I assume you heard the entire thing. Did you find out anything else?”
“She arrived in a 2008 Honda Accord. I ran the plates on the vehicle. The car is registered to Lisa Cullen, age thirty-four.”
“That’s probably her, then.”
“Probably so.”
“She did lie about her age, too,” Dave said. “On the dating site, her profile said thirty-three.”
“Technically, no. Her birthday was yesterday, as chance would have it. When you initially made contact with her, she was still thirty-three.”
“She admitted to the fake pics—but you would have heard that.”
“That’s nothing that we can bust her for.”
“No, of course not,” Dave sighed, even though he knew that Alan was only kidding. He felt the evening’s tension drain away from him. In its aftermath, he felt suddenly exhausted.
“She’s not Lilith, is she?”
Alan shook his head. “Not a chance. Nothing about her fits—I mean, now that we’ve actually met her.”
“Now that I have.”
“Right. Now that you have. But Maribel and I listened to the whole thing, like you keep saying.”
Dave said, “I agree. She was actually trying to make the date go off well. And did you see her teenage daughter come in?”
“Saw her and heard her,” Alan said. “Typical fourteen-year-old.”
25.
Not far from the restaurant where Dave was ending a faux date with a real Lisa, a faux Lisa—who sometimes also went by the names Lilly or Lilith—received an unexpected phone call.
Jessica was surprised when she heard the burner phone ring, and shushed Travis, who was kissing her neck at the time.
“It’s him,” she said in a loud whisper.
“Who?”
“That guy—from the dating site.”
They had used multiple burner phones up till now, phones that would be thrown away as soon as they were linked to criminal activity. The present phone had been used for only one purpose thus far: communications with Mark Quinn.
“Mark, hey!” Jessica said. “Yeah, it’s Lisa. Good to hear from you.”
Based on the outcome of their initial meeting, Jessica had expected Mark Quinn to throw her number away and never give her a second thought. She believed that Mark Quinn would have no cause as yet to suspect her of criminal intent—only of being another flake on the Internet dating scene, a person proffering various misrepresentations for various reasons.
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