Savage Art (A Chilling Suspense Novel)

by Danielle Girard

  Casey focused on Jordan, waiting for him to share his news. His fists were tight on the steering wheel. She studied the lighter skin around his knuckles and envied his ability to grip so fiercely.

  Her own hands were still wrapped, a soft foam grip in each one to be sure she didn't break the bones again. The doctor had refused to give his okay to box. She didn't care. At least he was helpful enough to give her suggestions on ways to protect her hands. She pulled off the wraps and struggled to spread her fingers.

  "I took them to the Warriors game last night."

  Casey looked up at Jordan. His eyes, though blurry and distant, were focused through the windshield. "The boys?"

  He nodded. "And, Angie." He paused for a few moments and then blinked hard twice before continuing. "Will was talking trash, and I got so damn mad."

  "That's normal, Gray. I get angry with Amy all the time." She caught herself. She didn't get angry with Amy anymore. She never even saw her daughter anymore. She thought of the picture stowed in her bedside table, and the familiar ache took hold.

  "He should be with both of his parents, you know?" He glanced over, and then, as though realizing who he was talking to, redirected the conversation. "I took him out of the game to talk to him."

  Though thoughts of her own child continued to drift in her mind, Casey remained focused on the story.

  "Ryan, my younger son, had to go to the bathroom. So I took them both out." He paused and glanced over his shoulder to change lanes.

  Though Jordan didn't shed tears, Casey watched his face crumple when he described the fear first of losing Ryan, and then the absolute terror of knowing Ryan had been in Leonardo's hands. Once, she, too, would have understood it on a deeper level, on the level of a mother. But she couldn't even remember what that was like, the experiences between now and motherhood had so totally destroyed her ability to empathize. "Did you see him?" was all she could think to say.

  Jordan shook his head. "I don't get this. I grew up in one of the most violent areas of the country. I lost two older brothers to gang warfare. It was greed and lust and turf. Reputation was everything. I understand that.

  "Sometimes, I can even relate to it. The danger of bullet spray and drive-by shootings is almost comforting in comparison to this. This guy makes me crazy. I don't understand him—I can't."

  Casey shook her head, her gaze returning to her hands. "I don't think you could."

  "But you do."

  She nodded slowly. "I don't think it's healthy."

  "None of it's healthy. If I wanted healthy, I'd have sold insurance."

  She watched his eyes, but he wasn't joking.

  "What drives someone to do this? How does he deal with remorse?"

  She scoffed. "There's no remorse."

  "Come on. He chops up a little kid, and he doesn't feel bad about it later?"

  She shook her head. "No. In fact, I think he feels good about it. It makes him feel strong, dominant. Power is very important to him. Wearing the uniform ties in with that. Being seen as an authority figure, especially a trusted one, is very appealing."

  "Why is someone like this?"

  "He was probably abused as a kid—most of them are, one way or another. In his case, I think he grew up without a father. Probably bailed on the mother when he was young. She felt strapped, took her anger at her situation out on him." Casey reviewed her original profile. Most of it still fit.

  "I'd guess a domineering mother," she continued. "Probably had another sibling, one he felt competitive with. Maybe a sister who the mother liked more." She stopped. "The change of victim group is confusing—children from adults. It's unusual. I suspect it relates back to his family, though. A sister who got all the attention. I'm only guessing.

  "Leonardo did not grow up with any strong male figures, though. His anger is based almost entirely at females. The children are taken when they're with their mothers, and they've all been female. You're looking for someone who's never had a normal sexual relationship—he'd be very immature sexually. He may even be a virgin. Sex is anger to him. He has no idea how it should function."

  Casey thought about all the hours she'd spent profiling Leonardo. "The inability to function in sex carries over into all his personal relationships—he's a loner. He may be nice-looking, though. Remember, he's luring children away in broad daylight and from under the noses of their mothers, so he doesn't look like a monster. That's what makes him so dangerous."

  "You think he is taking out his anger on women. What about the PG&E guy?"

  "The PG&E guy was in the way. He wouldn't consider that kill part of his portfolio. It might make him feel empowered or dominant, but mostly it's a means of getting to me. He would kill others that way as well—maybe he already has. The ones that matter are the ones he can control, the ones he kidnaps and takes his time with." Casey paused, trying to fit the puzzle together. "I'd like to find out more about the families. Have you asked any of them if it would be all right to speak with them?"

  He shook his head. "If this vigil works, we won't need to talk to them."

  "There's a good chance it won't."

  Jordan didn't meet her gaze.

  "It's a crap shoot, Gray. I don't want you to get your hopes up."

  He didn't respond immediately. "I told the captain about what happened in Cincinnati, about the fabric, and you..."

  Casey studied his face.

  "He doesn't think it's enough to prove the cases are related. He thinks the case is still in our jurisdiction—no Bureau."

  She nodded. It didn't surprise her. She had enough experience with local law-enforcement agencies to know how they worked. "Do you?"

  "Do I what?"

  "Believe that it's the same killer."

  Jordan looked at her and nodded. "After the note at your house, I do."

  She looked out the windows, watching the people mill about the streets.

  "Tell me more about him," Jordan said after a few minutes.

  She frowned.

  "Leonardo."

  Nodding, she sorted through what she knew. "I expect he was a late bloomer, introverted, maybe perceived as a weakling."

  "Small in stature?" Jordan's voice carried a tinge of excitement.

  She shook her head. "I didn't say small."

  "You said 'weak.' "

  "Not the same thing."

  Jordan nodded.

  "Gray, there's no way to describe the physical elements of a serial killer. Ed Kemper was a big guy—probably six-two, two-ten, looked like a football player. He killed about ten, they think, including his mother. The Atlanta Child Murderer was a black man, though the press and many of the authorities at the time were sure the killings were the act of the Klan. Robert Hansen was a small white man, probably only five-eight and one-fifty or so, worked as a baker. Ted Bundy and Jeffrey Dahmer were both described as handsome. I could go on and on. If I could draw a picture of this guy, I would."

  "You think he might be black?"

  Casey caught his eye and shook her head. "I know he's white. I knew it even before Billy saw him at the house."

  "Why?" Jordan countered.

  "I could tell you I think so because of the victims he's chosen and from the evidence we found." She paused. "But that's not why."

  "Why, then?"

  She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself.

  Jordan adjusted the heat.

  "I think he's white from the sound of his voice. That's the only thing I can still imagine when I close my eyes."

  "You never saw his face?" Jordan's voice was barely a whisper, but it crawled up her arms like a poisonous spider.

  Shaking it off, she shook her head. "Never saw anything. He injected me with something before I realized what was happening. I struggled, but he blindfolded me almost immediately." Casey could feel the initial incision of the knife into her hand, the electric-like pain of his scalpel cutting the skin.

  "Do you think you'd still know his voice?"

  She looked up at him.
"Half the time I swear I would. The other half, I'm not sure. I hear it in the grocery store or at the doctor's office. Sometimes just a word does it." She shook her head.

  "Did your partner see him?"

  "He made a ruckus at the door. By the time he got inside, Leonardo had made it out the window."

  "Ryan confirmed he was white, too."

  "Have you gotten Ryan to talk to a police artist?"

  Jordan didn't meet her gaze. "He's so scared."

  "It will help him work through the fear, you know that."

  "I don't know. You didn't see his face. He came walking back, wearing that blue party hat. He was so scared. I swear I felt my insides rip apart."

  She nodded, deciding not to press it. Even with a description, she was confident that Leonardo could disguise himself well enough to make the sighting basically worthless. They were going to have to catch him at his own game to catch him at all. If he was confident enough to remove children from a mall in broad daylight or to take Ryan from under Jordan's nose, then he wasn't walking around dressed as himself. A uniform, like Ryan had seen, made sense, but he had to be disguising his face, too.

  They pulled up to Casey's house, and she saw Billy's car parked in front.

  "He work weekends, too?"

  Casey smiled. "I guess, if you call it work. I think he's decided I can't take care of myself, so he's declared himself my mother."

  "It's nice to have someone to take care of you."

  She nodded.

  The front door opened, and Billy emerged as Casey was getting out of the car.

  "Nice work with the sketch, Billy," Jordan said.

  Billy nodded. "You think it will help?"

  "I do."

  Jordan pulled the police sketch from a folder in his backseat and handed it to Casey. "What do you think?"

  The man in the picture had a wide nose and smallish, dark eyes with big, dark-rimmed glasses. "The nose is probably a fake."

  "And the glasses," Jordan added.

  "He could also be light-eyed."

  Jordan nodded. "What about the lips?"

  Casey glanced at the picture again. It surprised her that the picture didn't show more facial hair. If she were a man looking to disguise himself, facial hair would be the best way. "Hard to fake the lips, but he could have a mouth guard, make them look fuller, or a piece he wears to spread his mouth out and thin the lips. There are some subtle things, too, but the basics are here."

  "I thought about facial hair, too. How come no 'stache?"

  "It's more power. He's saying he's good enough to trick us without the easy gimmicks, like a beard or mustache. It's a way of telling us he's better than we are," Casey said.

  "You really think that's not his real nose?" Billy asked.

  "I'd bet on it."

  Billy stared at the picture, shaking his head in astonishment. "Would you like to come in for some coffee, Inspector?"

  Jordan glanced at Casey. "May as well, Gray. It's hard enough to get coffee out of this guy. When he offers, you'd better snatch it up."

  Jordan smiled, but Casey could tell he was still deeply upset by what had happened at the game. He had good reason to be. "I'd like to, but I should be getting back to the kids. I'll swing by Sunday and pick you up—say three-thirty."

  "Perfect." The vigil was to begin at eight. It would take them at least three hours to infiltrate their volunteer staff and locate their man, if he was there. And they needed to be sure to do it without scaring him off. She wondered now if it could be done.

  Jordan turned toward his car when another drove up. "It's a regular circus around here." He closed his door again, and stood protectively at Casey's side like a Rottweiler.

  Billy moved to the other car, stealing a glance back at them with a wide grin. "It's Kevin."

  "Who's Kevin?" Jordan asked in low tones.

  "Billy's new friend."

  He nodded.

  "You don't need to stick around, Gray. We're okay."

  But instead of moving, the inspector merely shrugged. "I'd like to meet him. What's he do?"

  "Tax accountant."

  "Sounds interesting."

  "He also reads palms."

  Jordan didn't respond. Instead, he watched as Kevin stepped out of the car.

  "Remember, Casey," Billy whispered. "You swore you'd be nice."

  She nodded. Casey knew that, just like her, Jordan was bound to be suspicious of everyone who entered her life after the events of late. Kevin was taller than Billy by several inches, but still small. He had curly, blondish hair and an angular jaw with light hazel eyes. Casey studied his feet—they were small, like Billy's—a man's size eight, maybe nine, but too small for Leonardo. Casey glanced back down at the police sketch Jordan held. Jordan's gaze was already there.

  "I'm not seeing it," Jordan said, glancing up from the picture to Kevin.

  Smiling, she patted him on the arm. "I think it's safe."

  Jordan dropped the picture to his side as the man approached.

  "Casey, this is Kevin. Kevin, Casey."

  Kevin reached his hand out to shake, but Casey kept her hands at her sides.

  "Jordan Gray," Jordan said, catching Kevin's hand to prevent further awkwardness.

  The two men shook, and Billy gave Casey a warning look. She shook her head. She was at least glad to hear that Billy hadn't told Kevin all about her injuries. "Nice to meet you," she offered.

  "Billy said you might be interested in having your palm read," Kevin said, glancing at Casey's hands.

  Casey listened to his voice, registering it in her memory and coming up blank. It was too high, too feminine, and even when she adjusted it higher or lower, the pitch felt wrong.

  Billy grimaced.

  "I think that's my cue to leave," Jordan announced, getting in his car. "See you tomorrow."

  Casey nodded, and they watched as he pulled away. "I really need to shower. Do you two have plans today? You really don't need to stick around here on my account."

  Kevin looked at his watch. "I can only stay about a half hour. I'm meeting with a client in Berkeley at ten." Kevin touched Billy's shoulder. "Actually, the reason I came by is that I have tickets for Beach Blanket Babylon for tomorrow night and was hoping you might be able to come."

  Billy glanced at Casey.

  "I'm going to pop in the shower," Casey said, excusing herself. "Make yourselves at home."

  "I'd love to go to the show, but I think tomorrow night I'm going to the vigil for the kids in Golden Gate Park," Billy said as she moved out of earshot.

  * * *

  Casey stepped out of the shower, playing Kevin's voice through her head. It wasn't familiar, but she felt unease. She shook her head, scolding herself. It wasn't Leonardo that was causing this particular unease. Billy deserved to be happy. He was pulling his life together after learning about his disease. She needed to pull her life together, too.

  And despite her constant suspicion of everyone who came near her, Kevin appeared to really like Billy. As much as she would like to blame the tightness in her gut on something else, she knew her main concern was losing Billy's attention. In the past year, she had become so dependent on him. What would she do if he didn't have time for her anymore?

  It was silly, she knew. She was his job. But she didn't want it to be that way. She and Billy were closer than employee/employer. She just didn't want to share him. And that wasn't fair to him.

  As she emerged from the shower and toweled off, she heard the voices from the other room. Dressing quickly, she joined the men in the living room, forcing herself to put on a good face. She had promised Billy she would behave. Plus, Kevin had said it would be a short visit.

  "I made tea," Billy said. "Do you want some?"

  Casey nodded. "Thanks."

  Billy got up and headed to the kitchen.

  Kevin sat on the couch with his legs crossed. He wore khakis and a light-green-and-white-striped button-down. His shoes were Timberland, and she could just see a stripe of
his khaki socks beneath them. His hands were clean, his nails carefully manicured. His blond hair was cut short, the curls soft across his forehead. He had simple features and a strong jaw. His cologne was subtle and musky. In comparison, Casey looked like she'd been run over by a garbage truck.

  He was a bit timid, and it surprised Casey that Billy would go for the quiet type, but it was hard to find anything disagreeable about him. Soft hazel eyes smiled as he spoke. "Billy tells me you're a little skeptical about palm reading," Kevin said in his soft voice.

  She nodded. "More than a little."

  "You should give it a try."

  "I'm just not so sure I want to hear about my future."

  Kevin nodded in agreement. "I understand. A lot of people feel that way. How about your past?"

  She shook her head. "Not too fond of that, either."

  Billy returned, carrying a steaming cup. "Come on, Casey. Let him try. He can do your personal characteristics."

  Casey shook her head, trying to seem like a good sport and failing. "God, that's the worst of the three."

  "It's fun," Billy pressed, staring her down.

  "I'm really not interested," she said more firmly.

  "Show her what you told me about the lines," Billy said.

  Kevin gave her a quick glance as though testing her frustration. "It's no big deal if she doesn't want to do it, Billy. Really."

  "She's just being shy. Show us on my hand," Billy said.

  She nodded, keeping her hands in her lap.

  Billy plopped down next to Kevin and put his hands out, palms up. Shifting his body closer to Billy, Kevin took Billy's right hand and displayed it to Casey. "The three main lines that cut across your palm are head, love, and life from top to bottom," he said, focusing on Billy's palm. His voice was so low that Casey had to lean forward to hear. "Billy's most extraordinary line is his love line. It's really thick and clear on the far ends, implying he had a strong love early in his life and will have strong love later in life. His head line is very steady, shows he's not so sentimental that he doesn't think things through." Kevin nodded with approval. "And his life line is stable."