by Ian Worrall
He looks in the purse and takes out the wallet and the driver’s license for Christine Clements. She was the first drowning.
If only he’d done a much better job of organizing what belonged to which girl he’d know whose panties those were. But he was much younger then. Now he must find all the women’s driver’s licenses and he might be able to figure out who the survivor is.
Next to his couch, he has his tablet computer, which he uses for Internet at work. Not everyplace on campus has a security camera, but being a university, the whole place does have wireless Internet. Lucky for him his neighbor does too. The fool didn’t think to change the factory pre-set password for the wireless router. Any hacker with a minimum amount of skill can get access, which is what he did to save as much money as possible, use other people’s Internet and rack up their bandwidth usage bills.
Accessing the Internet, he brings up the Google homepage. He does a search for his nickname. The second result in the search is an online encyclopedia of serial killers. Clicking on that, he brings up his page. He scrolls down to the section entitled Confirmed Victims. A list which reads:
Christine Clements
Sara McKee
Laura Jones
Michelle Thompson
Rachel Ferguson
Lynn Taylor
Grabbing a piece of paper and a glue stick he spreads glue on the back of the license for Christine Clements. You were my first one as The Drowner. Like your first kiss, first time getting to first base in baseball, never made it to first base with a girl who was willing. And some women paid for it, and they will again. The first time for everything always has a special charm more so than all the times that came after. And what a great time I had with her.
Did her in the back seat of my car. She almost managed to escape, but she took a tire iron blow to the back of her head and then fell face first onto a rock where a couple more blows ended the twitching. Stuffing her in a bag and throwing her in the water was only an afterthought, a way to quickly get rid of the body. Unfortunately, she was found in short order. She wasn’t weighed down. That mistake was fixed. Lucky she was tiny so that even as dead weight she could be easily moved. Took her over the shoulder and discovered how truly fun that was. Having a helpless woman under my control is as good as sex.
With Christine’s license glued to the paper, Colton throws her purse to the side and takes out another sheet. He looks through the purses for Sara McKee’s ID. He puts each ID on the table so he can get to that woman in the order that he killed her so he can relive it again. In the fourth purse, he finds the red head he’s looking for.
Remember her now. She was the first time holding a living victim over his shoulder. What a feeling of power this gives to be able to take revenge for the humiliation that was done to him. Doesn’t really matter why. Only matters that it was fun.
From Christine, he learned to have the girl’s feet and hands bound so she couldn’t run if she regained consciousness. He learned different ways to knock them out. He used roofies for some. He learned how to do a sleeper hold from a jujitsu instructor. But one of his favorite ways was when he found a stun gun. With a date rape drug, you had to get it into her drink without anyone else noticing. With the sleeper hold you must control a struggling person. Even a small woman with a large fighting spirit can be hard to control. With the stun gun he got in New York, you can hide it under your sleeve and if anyone questions what happened, saying your girlfriend had a bit too much to drink sounded like a reasonable explanation as to why he was carrying her.
“Sara, you were such a little sweetheart,” he says as he kisses the ID card before gluing it to the sheet of paper. After putting it on top of the sheet for Christine Clements, he starts searching for the card for Laura Jones.
Chapter 41
A t the Oxford Motel in Chicago, the night auditor, a grey-haired man of about sixty years old, sees a grey Volkswagen Beetle pull up to the guest loading area. A short, pregnant woman steps out of the car. He minimizes the Night Audit window on his computer and then opens the Guest Check-In program.
“Room for the night?” he asks.
“At least three. Can I pay as I go?”
“If you’re staying for three, I’ll need a credit card for security reasons.”
“My credit cards were stolen. I can pay cash.”
“Sorry, need a credit card.”
She hands him two hundred dollars from her purse. “That’s for you. Buy your grandkids a gift. What’s the fee for three days?”
The man takes the money, smiling for real this time. “Two fifty every three days. Plus, another gift.”
Melissa winks at him as they exchange money for keys.
“I will still need a name Mrs.–?”
“Celine Charlebois.”
“Traveling alone? While pregnant, ma’am?”
“My husband choked to death while we were on vacation. Same time our credit cards were stolen.”
“Rough time. Sorry to hear that,” he says raising his eyebrows.
“Yeah.” she starts crying. What they believe as the man hands her a tissue. She blows her nose and puts the tissue in her purse.
“Do you need a hand with your bags?”
“No. I only have two light bags. The insurance company is getting Dan and the heavy stuff back to Quebec.”
“So why stay for three days or more?”
“The insurance company will call me when my husband is at the border so I can claim the body. Everything will be coming through the O’Hare airport customs.”
He gives her two thumbs up. “Have as good a stay as you can. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”
She smiles, turns away, and returns to her car, driving it to the front of her room.
Five minutes later, her motion sensors are set up, the pregnancy disguise is off, and she is going through her files on Mike Blauer. She has read up on the running trails for the Palos Region of Cook County. It has an advanced runner’s trail close to one another one called the Yellow Tail Loop.
She also has the address for the Tixeon International’s head office on West Madison Street. Danil’s contacts were able to get this for her. Probably not a great idea to take Blauer out where he works.
This one is going to be harder, more potential for witnesses with employees and business associates around. But no one said life was easy.
In addition to her security camera blocker app on her phone, she was also able to create tracking software. All she needs is be near his mobile phone, install her software via Bluetooth, and then she can track him wherever he goes. Once connected through her tablet computer, she can listen in on his phone calls at any time and she’ll know when he’s alone.
You’ll soon know the price of hurting women, you bastard. She checks the room clock; three a.m. Get four hours sleep and then get to my target.
* * *
Colton has put down the sheet of paper with the ID for Lynn Taylor on top of the pile of confirmed victims. He clicks on the link that brings him to the list of suspected victims:
Carrie Frigault
Jessie Bennett
Victoria Robbins
Anita Rhodes
There should be five on the list not four, why wouldn’t the fifth be on the list? If she survived would she have talked to the cops? Unless she wasn’t the girl next door, just a whore no one cared about?
This is the whole idea for taking the girls he did. Take the girl next door and it puts more fear into the community, and after everything people have done to him, he gets noticed and gets attention. If she was a throw away prostitute it might explain why she didn’t go to the cops. He finds the ID for Carrie Frigault, kisses it, and then glues it to another sheet of paper checking her name off the list.
Find the family of the girl who is not on the list. They might be able to give some insight as to what became of her. They might hold onto hope that she’s still alive. What the fools believe.
Jessie Bennett and Victoria
Robbins are now glued to their own sheets of paper leaving only two IDs left, the ones for Anita Rhodes and Melissa Vacelli. He kisses the one for Anita and glues it to a sheet of paper.
So, Melissa Vacelli, you’re the one who escaped. Where did I get you from again? Out dancing like chicks like to do, just finished school for the semester, and wanted to celebrate. So sweet and cute, how could I resist? And you came alone, foolish girl. She was the last one before using a stun gun. Used a magic trick to distract her while putting the drug in her drink. Then the dizziness came, head in hands, and took her out to the car promising her a ride home to safety. Controlling her wasn’t too difficult, four drinks and two roofies on a ninety-pound girl.
He rummages through the women’s clothes and finds the police badge and identification of the cop he killed. Need a fake ID to get an interview. Got a possible overtime shift coming up, for a wax job in the print shop at the University.
He flashes the police badge like they do on TV. “I’m homicide detective Cole Porter.” This time you won’t get away, Melissa. Then I’ll get Haley Vater.
He’s shaken out of his daydreams when he hears his phone ringing. He looks at his clock and sees it is six a.m. He’s late for work. “Yeah, I forgot to set my alarm when I was sick yesterday. Be there in about an hour.”
Chapter 42
A t ten a.m., Mike Blauer is working out in the Tixeon International corporate gym, a half hour after the meeting with the Board of Directors. Some of the board members expressed their concerns about the spousal abuse case. Whatever. A woman who doesn’t do what she’s told deserves to be smacked around. The board had asked him to step aside pending the outcome of the case. And a proper outcome it was. Justice and liberty, you can buy, but you don’t ever get it for free. The jury was star-struck. An autographed picture would get him off just as easily.
The case was a small financial setback, but that’s the price of doing business. Others in the gym give him looks like they don’t want to be in the same room as him.
The door opens to the gym and a woman dressed in business attire calls out to him as he finishes a set of bench press.
“Mr. Blauer, there’s a woman who says she has an appointment with you.”
“Didn’t know I had one for this time.”
“Neither did I.”
“You’re my secretary, Judith. It’s your job to know.”
“There must have been a mix up.”
“Tell her to wait in my office I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
The secretary turns and leaves.
* * *
With six members of the custodial team for his building sitting in the lounge, four men and two women, Colton enters holding his travel coffee cup. He carries his own as opposed to using the paper cups provided in the cafeteria, taking advantage of the fifteen-cent discount they offer to encourage environmental responsibility. He watched many true crime shows where police have gotten DNA off something as simple as a paper cup.
“How are you doing today, Cole?” one of the team members asks.
Colton waves his free hand as he sits down and takes a sip of coffee. “Better. Had the twenty-four-hour flu I guess.”
“Sure it wasn’t the forty-ounce flu?” another one asks.
Colton gives him a dirty look. “Yes. Quite certain.”
Another one hands him the previous day’s newspaper with the police sketch of The Drowner. “Was it because you look something like the mad man on the loose?”
Colton looks at the picture. He shakes his head. “That doesn’t look much like me. Probably lots of guys who could look like that.”
“Relax, dude. We know you’re not The Drowner. We’re just messing with you.”
“Well, don’t make jokes like that. It’s not funny. That girl went through hell when that asshole took her.”
He gets up from his chair and leaves the breakroom, slamming the door behind him.
“What crawled up his ass?” one woman asks.
“Would you like to look like a serial killer?”
Two minutes later, Colton is sitting in his custodial closet reading the newspaper article about him. The profile the cops released is a load of bull. Works security to give himself a sense of authority and power? No. I clean toilets for a living to stay anonymous.
He ignores the parts they got right. A recent trigger, his mother died. Ten years ago, his girlfriend broke up with him. He has had problems relating to others, particularly women, and never had a healthy relationship with a woman. His supposed girlfriend from ten years ago had used him to help get a good grade on a college assignment.
And what a tease that little bitch was. She would sit on his knee while working in the library or in his room. Let his arm brush against her boobs. Making out one night and thinking he was going to have sex for the first time ever, she changed her mind when he put her on the bed. She said she wasn’t ready yet, would only do it after she got married. When they got an “A” on the assignment, she broke up with him and went back to her hockey player boyfriend. Now he plays in the NHL and they’re married with three kids. Then when he overheard her talking to her friends about how she found him repulsive, he decided he hated women.
What was so wrong about me? Clarice Robbins, older sister of Victoria Robbins. At least I got one of them. Her husband plays for the LA Kings. Maybe he could get a job as a cleaner at their home ice rink, once Haley and Melissa are out of the picture. Her husband is away for a lot of time. A woman living at home, only thing to protect her are three kids under ten. Easy way to get control of her is to threaten the lives of the children. Yeah, I can get her. Clarice, you’ll join your sister soon.
* * *
With her phone ready and spying app cued up, Melissa is shown a seat in an office that seems to her like it would be big enough to fit her whole house in. Mahogany desk, brass railing along the windows, ceramic tiles on the floor, another small man trying to show off.
Patience, Melissa tells herself.
But at least look anxious. “When will he be here?” she asks the secretary.
“He said about thirty minutes, but don’t count on it being less than forty-five,” she says. “Would you like some coffee?”
“Yes, with two milks. Use my travel mug please.”
The secretary takes the mug from Melissa and returns with it full two minutes later.
“Is he always late for appointments?”
“No one knew you were coming.”
“Really? I had a job interview set up a week ago.”
The secretary leaves Melissa with her coffee. She takes a Sudoku puzzle book out of her purse and starts on the first puzzle in the book. The thirty minutes then forty-five minutes roll by as Melissa gets to the tenth puzzle and her target walks into the office an hour after he said he would.
“I apologize for the wait.”
“Didn’t notice,” Melissa says.
“What can I do for you Mrs.–”
“Ms. Jones. I was told I had a job interview, set up by the Sato Placement Agency.”
“Never heard of it. What type of work you do?”
“Secretarial, cleaning, anything you need or want me to do. I’m a single mom. I really need a job.”
“So, how long has been it been?”
“What do you mean?” she did know what he meant.
“Well, any type of work I want? I could use some house cleaning.” He hands her a piece of paper. “That’s got my address on it. Come over for dinner and dessert.”
She winks at him. “Sure thing. Be there about one this afternoon.”
“I’m dying to see you later.”
“That you will.” Melissa turns away with a sinister look on her face. “That you will.”
Like shooting fish in a barrel, men are so predictable. See a hot piece of ass and the girl can get anything she wants from him. She checks her phone and sees that the upload has finished. Home alone where there are no witnesses. Sitting down in her car she turns on her tabl
et and the uploaded spyware works.
* * *
Still sitting in his storage room, Colton is doing a Google search on his tablet for anyone with the last name Vacelli. With wireless Internet throughout the university, he can sit and wait for any spill calls to come through.
How can there be eight hundred people with the last name Vacelli in the state? Thought it was the French that made love like rabbits, not the Italians. It’s not like her last name is Smith. Thank God there are only five in Darrenport, should make it easier. It sucks when a victim survives, throws a wrench or two into your life, not the least of which is the cops get a little closer.
* * *
Back in her motel room, Melissa is eating take out Chinese food—beef fried rice, shrimp chow mein, and sweet and sour chicken balls. Her weapons are laid out on the other bed. She eyes each one as she eats.
Could this be a mistake? It will surely draw more attention, so the cyanide spray can’t be used. No one would ever believe a man his age would die of a heart attack. But the headlines it will draw could put the fear of God into men. They must know there’s a price for hurting women, a price paid in blood. For every woman killed by her partner, or who’s been missing for years and never found, I make this sacrifice for you. Someone had to do it. Dying on this mission or going to jail for it would even be worth it.
She packs her go bag with pants and a T-shirt. A girl can never be too prepared, and she never passes up an opportunity to have sex. Welcome news to a man like Mike Blauer.
Next, to plan my escape home. She checks through a classified section of the local newspaper, searching for a good and inexpensive vehicle. Would like to feel the wind in my hair all the way home, so a convertible or a bike will do. One thing that Danil had insisted on when he took her for himself was that Melissa learn to drive a standard transmission car as well as a motorcycle. While a cliché to be sure, she fell in love with Harley-Davidson and the slogan for women—”who says diamonds are a girl’s best friend?” They aren’t, at least not this girl’s. My best—or only—friends are my guns, knives, cyanide spray, and soon a hog.