She Can Scream (She Can Series)

by Melinda Leigh

  “Who?”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t say anything until we have confirmation. The family deserves to know first.” The chief lifted the corner of his file. He slid a picture out. “Do you recognize this?”

  Brooke pulled the picture toward her by one finger as if it were tainted by violence. Her lungs collapsed. “That’s Maddie’s earring, the match to the one her assailant left on her hospital tray. You’re sure Maddie is all right?” Please, please, please God.

  Luke wiggled his hand from her grip and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Did he know she needed help staying upright?

  “Maddie is fine,” the chief said. “I spoke to the officer at her house this morning.”

  Relief sent another wave of dizziness spinning through Brooke’s head. She inhaled deeply, then remembered that a girl was still dead. It just wasn’t Maddie. Brooke wanted to ask why she was here, but her throat locked up, dry and tight as if packed with chalk dust.

  Luke’s hand rubbed her shoulder. He reached across his lap with his free hand and interlocked their fingers. “What do you want from Brooke?”

  Jack looked up from his notes. Though Luke asked the question, Jack addressed Brooke. “We’re hoping you can give us information. Are you sure you’re up for all this?”

  Brooke nodded. “Yes.” Her voice was a breathy rasp.

  “Ethan,” the chief said. “Get Ms. Davenport some water.”

  “Yes, sir.” The young officer exited.

  Mike gestured to the seated cops. “Kent, why don’t you start with an update on Maddie Thorpe’s assault?”

  “Right.” Kent opened his file. “We recovered DNA samples from under Maddie Thorpe’s nails. Those samples are being run through the national DNA database, CODIS. So far, we haven’t gotten any hits. Three weeks ago, a woman was raped in Hillside. DNA was recovered in that case as well. Since both of the victims were joggers attacked in the woods, we’re comparing the DNA in both assaults. The blood type is the same, but it’s O positive. Roughly forty to fifty percent of the population is O positive, so that doesn’t tell us much. You saw the composite sketch?” He raised his brow at Brooke and Luke.

  “Yes,” Luke answered. “Chief O’Connell showed it to us.”

  “We have no other leads. No one saw or heard anything. Hillside PD is still working their case, but they haven’t come up with anything new.” Kent turned his attention to Jack. “We don’t really know if the two cases are related. What do you think?”

  “It’s hard to say. There are similarities in the cases, but enough differences to give me pause.” Jack glanced down at the paper. “We are, however, proceeding on the assumption that the killer from last night is the same man who attacked Maddie and left the mannequin in Brooke’s basement. He left Maddie’s earring with the corpse to make sure we connected the cases. The substance on the mannequin’s face was human blood. It matches the blood type of our murder victim, B positive. It’s not the most common blood type, roughly nine percent of the Caucasian population. It will take a few weeks for the DNA reports to confirm, but with the earring, I’m betting it’s the same guy.”

  Jack flipped to the next yellow-lined page and set a pair of reading glasses on his face. “Both Maddie and this victim were beaten. He used his fists, which tells me he likes to get personal. He wore gloves, so he’s also careful. With Maddie, the blows could have served the more general purpose of subduing her. But victim number two was beaten far beyond what would have been necessary for compliance. It was rage.”

  Brooke flashed to the sight of the killer straddling Maddie in the woods. The sound of his fists striking her face. With a sharp inhalation, she ripped her attention from the past.

  Jack followed his notes with the tip of his pen. “Victim number two wasn’t killed at the laundry. He brought her there afterward. She had multiple ligature wounds. She had other, er, injuries that suggest he kept her somewhere for a while. He needed time and privacy to do what he did. I also suspect he drugged her, but we’ll have to wait for the toxicology reports for confirmation.”

  She knew Jack was trying to be kind in not revealing the gory details, but his vagueness wasn’t helping. Brooke’s imagination filled in the gaps.

  Jack looked up. “My guess is that’s what he would’ve done with Maddie if you hadn’t interrupted him. He would have taken her somewhere else and he would have killed her.”

  Ethan returned with several bottles of water. He handed one to Brooke. Fresh from a refrigerator, it chilled her already cold fingers. She twisted off the cap and took a small sip. Her stomach protested the onslaught of icy liquid. She set the bottle on the table. “Why is he doing this?”

  Jack put his hand flat on top of the closed file. He leaned over the table toward Brooke. “On the surface, he’s punishing you. You’ve devoted a portion of your life to protecting young women. He knows that hurting young women is the best way to get to you. Not only did he copy Karen’s murder, but he carved your name into the victim’s skin. That’s personal.”

  “You said on the surface. Why?” Kent asked with a tilt of his head.

  “Because that’s just his excuse.” Jack tapped a finger on his file. “I believe he’s really hurting and killing women because he likes it.”

  “Do you profile?” Kent asked.

  “Hard to profile on one case.” Jack’s mouth thinned. “The FBI has specialists who might be able to do a better job, but I will say he’s not on the young end of the spectrum nor is this his first kill. There’s too much planning involved. Plus, he switched gears easily to incorporate Brooke’s past. That tells me he has some experience. Serial killers tend to be males between the ages of twenty and forty. While we do see teen killers, few are over the age of fifty. They tend to kill within their own race, so he’s likely white.”

  “Can’t you give us anything else?” Kent tapped on his paper with his pen. “Any suggestions of where to start looking?”

  “You could try positions of authority. A store security guard or some other job that would give him a sense of power.” Jack scratched his chin. “Remember we don’t have any proof we’re dealing with a serial killer, just my gut.”

  “Your gut is usually pretty accurate,” Mike said.

  Brooke wrapped her arms around her middle. She’d thought she’d faced the worst horror of her life when she found Karen’s body. But this was open-ended. What would he do next?

  Mike grabbed a water bottle. “I called the prison. David Flanagan is still in prison. He has regular visits from his family and lawyer. We’re checking out the family to see if anything looks amiss.” He clenched a frustrated fist on the table. “I’ve been in contact with the state police and the FBI, but so far we haven’t turned up any open cases that fit these parameters.”

  Kent’s phone beeped. He checked the display. “I have to get this.”

  “I think we’re about done anyway.” Mike held out a hand. “Thanks for coming.”

  “Anytime. Let me know if anything breaks. I’ll do the same.” Kent let himself out of the conference room.

  Brooke’s throat constricted, but swallowing water was not a possibility.

  A girl had been murdered and left to taunt Brooke. Jack suspected a serial killer, but they had very few leads. The murderer knew Brooke well, and he could be anybody.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  What if the police didn’t catch the killer before Monday? Luke paced the small room, torn between wanting Brooke to stay out of the police investigation and helping the police find the killer. If Brooke went into hiding, would the killer forget about her?

  No. He wouldn’t.

  Brooke cleared her throat. “Luke and I had some ideas about this guy stalking Maddie via her various social media sites. Maddie is very active online. She gave out a lot of personal information all over the Internet. When you confirm the second victim’s identity, we could try and cross the two girls’ online activities and see if there are any intersections.”

  “That’s a
possibility.” Mike swept both beefy hands over his head. “The state police are equipped to do that sort of analysis. We don’t have the expertise in-house.”

  “I could do it.” Luke pivoted toward the table. “My background is in network security. My first task with every new client is to hack their system and find its vulnerabilities.”

  “I’ll take all the help I can get. As soon as we have a confirmed identity, I’ll let you know.” Mike flipped his legal pad to a fresh page. “In the meantime, Brooke, I want you to think hard about all the men you know, even casually. Is there anyone new in your life?”

  Brooke’s face was blank. Dwarfed by Luke’s sweater, the sleeves hung over the tips of her fingers. For the first time since Luke had known her, she looked lost. “I can’t think of anyone who could do this. Wait. What about Joe?”

  “No one knows where Joe is.” The chief clicked his pen. “But we’re looking hard for him.”

  Luke went back to his chair and took her hand. Her fingers were colder than the water bottles fresh out of the fridge. Shit. There must be something they could do. “Isn’t there a list of sex offenders in the area?”

  “Yes, and we’re working our way through the list.” Jack patted a stack of folders at his elbow. “In fact, I wanted Brooke to look through these photos and see if she recognizes anyone.” He slid the top file across the table to Brooke. She paled, which was saying something because she came into the room the color of bleached cement. “They’re just mug shots.”

  She lifted the corner of the folder by the very edge as if the photos could jump out at her.

  The stack of pictures was thicker than Luke expected. “How many are in the pile?”

  “Fifty-seven offenders with histories of violence against adult women.” The chief frowned. “We can expand the territory and the parameters later, but this gives us a start.”

  Brooke turned pages and studied images. She made two piles. In fifteen minutes, she’d finished the first pass. She patted the facedown pile. “None of these men look at all familiar. I’m not so sure about these three.” She spread them on the table like playing cards. “It’s possible I’ve seen them, but I can’t remember when or where or in what context.”

  “Take all the time you need.” Jack stood and stretched. “In fact, I could use a sandwich.”

  The chief looked at his watch. “We’ll order lunch in. Any requests?” He gave Brooke a critical sweep.

  She shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”

  “I have to check on a few things.” He heaved to his feet and crutched-it toward the door. He caught Luke’s eye.

  “I’ll be right back.” Luke released Brooke slowly. When he was sure she wasn’t going to keel over, he followed the police chief into the hall.

  The chief nodded toward his secretary. “Nancy has a take-out menu. Order something for yourself and anything you think Brooke might eat.” He headed for an office in the back of the station. “I’ll be back.”

  Nancy handed him a white tri-fold menu for a local sandwich shop. Luke ordered a ham sandwich, a bowl of chicken soup, bread, and crackers.

  “Good choices,” Nancy approved. “She’s taking this hard?”

  Luke glanced back at the open conference room door. Jack had emerged from the room and was stretching his back.

  On the other side of the counter, the station door opened. A young woman rushed in, tears streaming down her face. Luke recognized her from somewhere. How did he know her?

  She shoved messy brown hair away from her face and leaned on the counter with both hands. “My roommate said an officer came to our apartment looking for me.”

  “Your name?” Nancy’s face went from helpful and concerned to dead serious.

  “Gabrielle. Gabrielle Quaker.”

  Nancy picked up her phone. Glancing over her shoulder at the chief’s office, she hit one number.

  “I’ll take you back to see Chief O’Connell.” With the air of a funeral procession, Nancy escorted her through the station. She opened the chief’s door. The girl hesitated. Her body language was that of a person who knew what was coming was the worst news. Mike was walking around his desk to meet her. He shut the door.

  Luke suddenly placed the girl. No. He glanced back at Brooke. Pain welled around his heart. This was going to break her. He started toward the conference room.

  A muffled wail came from the chief’s closed door.

  Brooke appeared in the conference room doorway. She glanced around the station, spotted Luke, and started toward him.

  The chief’s door opened. He came out of his office and waved for Nancy. She hurried across the floor to confer. One hand splayed on the strand of pearls at her throat.

  Luke heard Brooke’s sharp intake of breath. She was staring at the open office door. The dark-haired girl huddled in a chair in front of a desk. She lifted her tear-streaked face.

  “No.” Brooke’s knees buckled.

  Luke launched himself across the ten feet that separated them, but she caught herself on the edge of a desk. She leaned, breathing heavily.

  Luke grabbed a chair and shoved it under her. He eased her into it and rubbed her shoulders. “Deep breath.”

  Jack handed him a paper bag. Luke put the opening over Brooke’s mouth and nose. “Just try to breathe normally.”

  Air wheezed in and out of her lungs. A few minutes later, she exhaled hard and pushed the bag away. She propped her elbows on her knees and bent forward until her forehead rested in her palms.

  “The dead girl, it’s Natalie, isn’t it?” she asked without lifting her head.

  Jack didn’t have to answer. Brooke’s body trembled.

  The killer had murdered one of Brooke’s self-defense students.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  He switched on the news and watched the breaking story. Behind a somber newswoman, law enforcement personnel swarmed around Selena’s apartment building. Yellow tape fluttered in the breeze.

  Yes! He loved watching his work on live TV.

  His new plan was risky, but he hadn’t had this much fun in years. Breaking out of the rut he’d been stuck in was well worth putting aside his one-kill-per-year rule.

  Now to put step three into play. He started his computer, then peeled and ate a tangerine while he waited for the machine to boot up. The orange taste lingered on his tongue, the combination of tangy and sweet reminding him of Natalie. Bright and beautiful on the outside, and just enough zest on the inside to keep her interesting. For a while, anyway. How convenient that Natalie had posted online about attending Brooke’s class. He so enjoyed putting the personal touch on his gift.

  Until excitement had taken over.

  He went to the kitchen for a second tangerine, but the bowl was empty. He must have eaten more than he thought. His hunger had been increasing lately, and not just for food. He wanted his double feature.

  His home screen popped up on the computer. Time to get to work. There’d be time to satisfy his appetites later. Right now, he had an abduction to plan. There was no way he was going to get Brooke away from her new beau. She would have to come to him, and for that to happen, he would need some bait. There was only one perfect lure to reel Brooke in.

  He opened his social media application and scrolled through updates.

  There she was. How interesting. Someone had a new boyfriend.

  With a crack of his knuckles, he went to work hacking the young man’s account. This was going to be the best night ever.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Natalie was dead, and it was Brooke’s fault.

  Numbness spread through Brooke’s body, the shock of her student’s death flowing through her veins like a morphine drip. Luke picked her up and carried her into the conference room. He lowered her into a chair. Sitting across from her, he took both her hands in his and held them without speaking.

  She lifted her head. The room tilted. “Two women are dead because of me.”

  His brow creased. “Wait. Two?”

&n
bsp; “Natalie and Karen.”

  “Karen was your roommate.”

  “Yes.”

  “She was killed by her ex-boyfriend.” Luke rubbed her hands. “How can that be your fault?”

  Her gaze locked on the files spread across the conference room table. The words poured out, the secret she’d kept since that awful night breaking free. “I found her. Karen went down to do laundry a little before midnight. She was a night owl and the machines were always empty at that hour. I’ve always been a morning person. I used to get up early before work and run four or five miles. By midnight, I could barely keep my eyes open. I fell asleep on the couch after she left. By the time I woke up, it was 3:00 a.m. I knew right away that something was wrong. Karen always shook me and sent me to bed when I dozed off in front of the TV.”

  She paused for a wavering breath but couldn’t look at Luke. “Her bedroom was empty. No Karen. No laundry. I went downstairs. At first I thought the basement was empty…” The vision intruded, every detail clear as a high-resolution photo. She stopped to steady herself. “I went in and looked around. Karen’s clothes were scattered on the floor, her laundry basket upside down, her sheets piled in the corner. Karen was under the sheets. The police said she’d been dead for three to four hours.”

  Brooke’s voice failed.

  Luke squeezed her fingers. “Look at me.”

  But she couldn’t. She tightened her grip on his hands, holding onto to him as she blurted out the rest. “The basement always smelled like mold. We used to prop the window open. I was the one who forgot to close it earlier that day when I went down to do my wash. If I had remembered to close the window, Karen would still be alive.”

  “Or he would’ve simply broken the window. I’d say you shouldn’t blame yourself for what happened, but I know that’s not possible.” Luke exhaled. “I still blame myself for Sherry’s death. I know it’s not rational, but I feel like there must have been something I could have done to save her.”

  Luke lifted her chin with his forefinger. His eyes reflected the despair compressed inside her own rib cage, the pressure constricting around her, tightening until she could barely breathe. “I won’t tell you to let go of the guilt because I have no idea how to do that. I guess we just have to learn to live with it.”