Dawn Girl: A Gripping Serial Killer Thriller

by Leslie Wolfe

  “I’m about to break the law in many ways, Michowsky. Trust me when I tell you to back off. Sit this one out.”

  “What happened to getting a warrant?”

  She didn’t bother to answer, just left, car keys jiggling in her hand.

  Michowsky shook his head, getting ready to chase after her, but turned to Cat.

  “Why don’t you stop her from driving?”

  “Now why the hell would I do that?” Cat asked calmly, not a hint of humor on his face.

  “That’s why,” Gary pointed at Tess’s empty glasses. “Three mojitos are reason enough in my book.”

  “They’re just virgin mojitos,” Cat laughed.

  “Huh?”

  “Mint lemonades,” he explained, continuing to laugh. “You’re the only one who had any alcohol here. You shouldn’t drive, buddy, all right?”

  “Ah, hell…” Gary said, as he burst out the door. He ran to the corner of the parking lot, just in time to see Tess speeding by, flashing lights on. He waved behind her with both his arms high up in the air.

  “Hey! Hey! Wait, for Chrissake,” he shouted.

  She hit the brakes, raising a cloud of dust, then put it in reverse and floored it until she was close enough. Then she put it in drive and floored it again, before he even got to close his door.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Due Process

  “Listen to me,” Gary asked, raising his tone. “Just listen, will you?”

  She shot him a quick, angry glance, then returned her full attention to the road. She honked whenever cars didn’t make room for her fast enough. Scoffing in frustration, she made a mental note to get a damn siren installed on her vehicle. Some stupid procedure… that the FBI agents didn’t really have emergencies to justify it? She would’ve liked to have the bureaucrat who’d coughed up that particular procedure tied up and tortured, instead of Julie, while waiting for Tess to crawl through stupid traffic without a siren. That would serve him well. He’d probably rewrite the damn thing pronto.

  “We can get a warrant, Winnett, why risk it?”

  “It takes too damn long. I’m not letting that girl endure a minute more than we absolutely have to.”

  There was no arguing with that point, and Gary’s silence confirmed it.

  “Listen,” she said, “I’m betting my career on two things right now. That Matthew Dahler is our unsub, and I’m 99 percent sure about that, and that we’re going to find Julie at one of these addresses. But it’s my career I’m betting, and I’m not willing to bet yours. Stay in the damn car when we get there. Have my back if I screw up.”

  He didn’t say a word for a while. He sat there, resentful, eyes forward, scrunching his face, and scratching his head.

  “All right, Winnett, have it your way.” He sounded almost tired, resigned.

  “Do you think we’re going to find her?”

  “I hope so. If we don’t, I—we don’t have any more leads, nothing. We’re finished, and the consequences will be major, for all of us.”

  “Yeah,” she replied quietly. He was right. If they made a mistake, there was no coming back from it. Entering someone’s property without visible cause and without a warrant meant breaking the law. With the Dahlers in play, they’d never let any of them get away with it.

  Tess slowed down as she approached the port entrance. The gates were open, and she didn’t have to stop, but she did anyway, to get directions to the storage containers area from a marina employee. Then she killed her flashers and drove on, slowly, following the indications she’d received.

  A chime, and Gary grabbed her phone to read her text message.

  “Pull a 180,” he said. “Suspension equipment was installed at the house, in the basement. It’s confirmed.”

  Her tires squealed hard on the overheated asphalt, and Gary had to hold on to the door handle, groaning. She drove out of the marina at full speed, heading toward Highway 1, and took a left turn, heading south. It was a safer bet than any other route, but it crawled through countless busy intersections.

  Gary pulled out his Glock and checked the ammo, then holstered it.

  “Oh, no,” Tess said coldly, “you’re staying in the car. We agreed.”

  “We didn’t agree. You dictated, and I gave up fighting you. I’m just too tired to argue with you, Winnett.”

  “We can’t both go in there, Detective. Think straight for a second. What if he shoots us both, then what?”

  “This is bullshit, and you know it. But hey, whatever. I’ll stay here,” he conceded, not concerned with hiding his crabbiness.

  She turned on Dahler’s street and killed the flashers. She pulled over two numbers shy of his address and cut the engine. There was no pedestrian traffic on the small street, typical for a late afternoon on a quiet weekend. She checked her weapon in a hurry, then got out of the car and closed the door slowly.

  She walked as inconspicuously as she could toward Dahler’s house, decided to attempt entry through the back. She checked her surroundings one more time, then entered the backyard, weapon drawn.

  ~~~~~

  Watching her from a distance, Gary fidgeted for a few seconds, then grabbed his phone and dialed the FBI switchboard.

  “Is there a Special Agent in Charge by the name Pearson? Could you please patch me through? This is an emergency.”

  As soon as he got off the phone, he drew his weapon and followed Tess into Dahler’s backyard.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  The Lair

  It was getting dark, and that helped her remain invisible, covered in part by bushes and a six-foot-tall fence. Tess crouched and advanced slowly, looking out for floodlight sensors she could trip. Above the side entrance there was one, but if she dragged herself against the wall she could avoid triggering it.

  She reached the door and tried the handle gently. It was locked. She reached out to her back pocket and extracted a credit card from her wallet. A few seconds later, the door was unlocked.

  She opened it slowly, carefully, listening intently for any sounds coming from the house. She could hear the TV on the upper floor, and flickers of bluish light reached into the staircase. The side entrance, on the ground level, was half a story lower than the upper level, and half a story above the basement. Matthew’s unofficial home was a split level.

  She closed the door behind her without making a sound, and decided to start with the basement. She descended the stairs quietly, helped by the thick carpeting covering the wide steps. Once she reached the basement level, she cleared the laundry room first, holding her gun in her right hand. Her left held a tactical flashlight in the icepick grip, thumb on its pressure switch, and crossing underneath her right forearm, for added stability. Then she checked a couple of closets and an empty storage space built under the stairs.

  Only one door left, and she opened it slowly, careful not to make a sound. The space she entered was large, probably extending underneath most of the living area in the house. She closed the door quietly, focusing on checking every corner.

  Then she saw it, at the center of the room, the complicated harness sustaining the inert, naked body of a young woman. Her head hung, and her brown hair covered her face almost completely. Her back was covered in narrow lines drawn in dried blood. Tess gasped. She’d thought she was prepared for what she was going to find, after Doc Rizza’s report, but there was no preparing for what she saw. The harness hung from the ceiling, and intricate lines and pulleys made it easy to control the position of the woman bound in it. A few feet in front of it, on a tile-covered counter, medical instruments, drugs, and sexual paraphernalia were lined neatly in trays and on the wall, the entire array of accessories for the sexual sadist they had profiled. Her eyes, fixated in horror on what she was seeing, missed the silent alarm on the wall. The LEDs under its display turned red and blinking.

  She approached the harness quickly, focused on the young woman, trying to find out if she was still alive. She holstered her gun and checked her pulse, supporting
her head gently. She was alive and barely conscious; she flinched under her touch and whimpered weakly.

  “Shh… it’s okay,” she whispered. “I’m with the FBI. I’ll get you home.”

  Julie whimpered weakly and tried to open her eyes but failed. She was heavily drugged. Tess searched for the light switch again, even if turning on the light meant getting Dahler’s attention. She finally located it, right above the counter in front of her. She flipped the switch, and powerful fluorescent lights came on.

  She scampered back to Julie and checked her pupils. The poor girl struggled, but couldn’t keep her eyes open. She moaned quietly and tried to say something, but Tess couldn’t make out what she said. Her face was swollen badly and her lower lip was distended and broken, covered in dried blood.

  “It’s okay, it’s okay,” Tess whispered, “you’re going to be okay.”

  She gave up trying to revive her, and moved on to undoing her ties. She started with her right wrist, and fumbled with the leather cuff, her fingers trembling, scrambling to get the cuff undone, growingly ignorant of her environment.

  She didn’t see him coming, didn’t hear a sound. She just found herself flying across the room and slammed against the wall, then she fell to the ground. Confused, her heart pounding in her chest, she lifted her head just in time to see Matthew Dahler coming at her with both fists. She evaded one of his blows and managed to grab his arm and use it as leverage to pick herself up, while she tried to reach for her gun. She didn’t make it. Dahler clenched her, holding both her arms along her body, and dragged her kicking air next to the counter. He slammed her back hard against the counter edge and she gasped, pain shooting through her back bone. He grabbed a syringe that still held some fluid in it. As in a dream, Tess heard Julie whimpering louder, more desperate.

  She watched with terror as the syringe needle approached her neck, and summoned all her strength to get free. He was powerful, his arms like steel pinning her in place. She managed to squeeze her knee up and hit him in the groin, not nearly as hard as she’d wanted, but it destabilized him and threw him off a bit. She seized the opportunity and sent an elbow into his stomach, then, as he crouched in reflex, hit him in the jaw with the same left elbow, supported with her right hand wrapped around her left fist. She heard his teeth clatter, and he groaned angrily, his deep blue eyes drilling into hers, glinting with rage. Suddenly he grunted and closed his fists so hard she heard his knuckles crack.

  He came at her with both hands, grabbed her by the arms and threw her against the wall. She flailed and grabbed at him blindly, her left hand grasping a handful of his T-shirt. It tore as she slammed against the wall, leaving his upper arm exposed, where well-developed biceps moved under his skin. She gasped and froze, paralyzed, her eyes affixed on the tattoo she’d uncovered. A snake, entwined on a stick. The snake of her dark memories, of her nightmares. The same one, the unforgettable witness to her darkest hour. The image that had been haunting her for more than 10 years, but couldn’t see clearly until now. A wave of nausea crippled her, and she whimpered weakly, crouching down, unable to pick herself up and fight back.

  He frowned, prepared for her counterattack that didn’t come. He grabbed her by the lapels with one strong grip and lifted her up, her back snug against the wall. Then he studied her carefully, up close, and smirked.

  “Well, hello there,” he said, “isn’t life full of surprises today.”

  Frozen, she stared at his face, paralyzed by fear, by the wave of brutal memories that came rushing in from years of silence and darkness. She stared at the face she’d been looking for everywhere, in databases as well as on the streets, in stores, on TV. She’d finally found him, but his presence stunned her, turning her into a weak, trembling bundle of nerves and nausea.

  Still holding her against the wall with one hand, he took her weapon with the other and threw it on the counter. Then he hit her across her face with his right fist, sending her to the floor, seeing stars. Her right cheek hit the tiles hard, and she saw a flash of light when her head bumped against the cold surface. She tried to lift her head, but his elbow held it in place, and his knee crushed her ribs. He pulled her hair toward the back and exposed her neck.

  “There it is,” he laughed, running a finger along her hairline, between her ear and her nape. “My mark. I recognize my earlier work.”

  She whimpered weakly, hating herself for her lameness. She stared into his eyes, so close to hers, remembering that flicker. That night long ago it had been dark, and he’d worn a mask, but that glint, that flash of savage, sadistic cruelty had been there then, and it was there now.

  “You recognize me, don’t you?” Dahler asked, squeezing the grip on her left shoulder.

  By the way it hurt, and by the lack of strength and coordination in her left hand, that shoulder was broken, maybe dislocated. She cried, as pain shot through her bone.

  “I knew you would,” he added, laughing. “I tried to make our encounter as memorable as possible.”

  Her eyes moved back to the tattoo. The snake on a rod, the symbol of healing and medicine. The Rod of Asclepius it was called; she’d learned that reviewing thousands of tattoos in the federal database, looking for him, looking for Matthew Dahler, before she’d known his name.

  “Unfortunately, you ran away, before I could finish my first masterpiece. Well, there’s no time like the present, is there?”

  She heard Julie whimper louder and louder, her whimpers turning into desperate cries. Somehow, Julie’s cries fueled her courage, infusing strength in her veins, and she started to come out of her paralysis, thinking and planning her next move.

  “Get up,” he said, taking his weight off her. He took a few steps back and grabbed her gun from the counter, pointing it at her. “Move it.”

  It hurt to get up, her left arm hanging limp and her head throbbing in pain. She managed to stand, not taking her eyes off his.

  “Yes, I ran away,” she said, finding the strength to smile. “You know why? Scumbags like you were lined up for me to catch, that’s why. I couldn’t keep them waiting.”

  He approached her a step more, grinding his teeth and bringing the weapon one foot closer to her chest. She didn’t budge.

  “You know why I couldn’t keep the scum of this earth waiting?” she continued, forcing the smile to stay on her lips. “Because I had to clear the floor for you. You’re going down next. You’re going to learn all about rape in prison. It’ll be a blast.”

  He took one more step forward, twitching his lips in anger.

  “Shut the fuck up, bitch. You’re at the wrong end of the gun.”

  She searched his eyes one more time, no matter how disturbing that felt, still making her sick. He wasn’t the shooting type. He’d never shot anyone. He wanted her to suffer, to hang right there, where Julie did, screaming in pain. She repressed a shudder.

  “I have to wonder,” she continued, painting her voice with as much sarcasm as she could muster, “what was it like for you to realize I’d gone, and you’re left there with your dick in your hand? Some rapist, huh?”

  He took one more step, leaving less than a foot of distance between the gun’s barrel and her chest. Her left arm was useless, or almost, and the throbs in her left shoulder almost unbearable, but she had to make a move for it, and that was the perfect chance.

  “Safety’s on, dumbass,” she said coldly.

  He diverted his eyes for a split second, looking for the safety, but that was enough for her. The heel of her right hand hit him in the chin with an upward motion, while she took a step to the right, and deflected the hand holding the gun with whatever strength she could summon. He dropped the gun and flailed, trying to maintain his balance, but she shot a knee to his groin hard, as hard as she could. He coiled forward, holding his abdomen with both hands, and bringing his head within range for a strong kick. A second kick to the groin sent him wobbling toward the counter, and she caught the opportunity to pick up her gun. She pointed it at him with cold eyes.

/>   “Sigs don’t have safeties, motherfucker.” She pulled the trigger, sending a bullet ripping through his thigh. He screamed in pain and crouched near the wall, trying to stop the blood loss with both his hands.

  Then she slapped him across the head with the butt of her gun and put his lights out.

  “Now we’re set, asshole,” she muttered, and holstered her gun.

  Julie was awake, her eyes badly glazed over and out of focus. She’d stopped whimpering when Tess shot Dahler and tried to say something, but Tess still couldn’t understand what she said. Tess resumed undoing her cuffs, this time starting with the ankle cuffs, so she could stand on her own legs as soon as possible.

  “We’re almost ready now, just a second more,” Tess said gently. “I promise you no one will see you like this.”

  Julie whimpered quietly, and a fresh tear rolled on her cheek.

  Tess finished with the ankle cuffs and guided her feet to the ground gently, as gently as she could, but Julie still jolted and fidgeted each time she touched her. She was weak still, and couldn’t support her own weight. Although her feet could touch the ground freely, her knees buckled and she hung in the harness, shaky and frail.

  Then Tess moved to her waist, undoing the three buckles of the main support belt. Julie started whimpering again and struggled to say something.

  “Just a few seconds more, I promise.”

  Julie whimpered louder, a note of panic in her weak voice, her glassy eyes staring somewhere behind Tess.

  “Look,” she muttered.

  Tess turned to see just as the blow came. Something heavy hit the side of her head and sent her to the floor, seeing stars, confused. She crawled backward until she hit the wall, looking for the source of the attack.

  “That’s my son, you fucking bitch,” the man said.

  Then she saw him, Matthew Dahler’s father, his back turned to her as he reached for a baseball bat at the end of the counter. She pulled her gun and shot him, just as he turned toward her. Her bullet put a hole in his temple. He landed on the floor with a heavy thump, blood pooling around his head, just a few feet away from his son.