by Ian Worrall
Charlie Kerr
Jordan Lawrence
Andrew Lefave
Kyle McDonnell
Malcolm Nelsen
Matt Olsen
Frank O’Regan
Ray Parker
Tyler Ramey
Pete Scovill
Harold Tate
Kevin Underwood
“Now that we’ve got our list,” Jackie says, “we go through it on my computer to see who has been paroled or left the area ten years ago, then come back and check to see if any crimes have been committed where they were living before moving back.”
“This is going to be great,” Zach says as they make their way over to Jackie’s station and turn on her computer. The former agent is not quite looking at the floor but his pace is still labored.
“We’ll get this piece of crap.”
“I wonder about the irony,” Zach says.
“Irony of what?” Jackie asks.
“When we catch the guy, he’ll get the death penalty.”
“And that’s ironic how?”
“This woman who’s the vigilante, if she’s the surviving victim from ten years ago, has killed close to one hundred men, where he’s killed about ten percent of that, as far as we know. What is she going to get?” he asks.
“She’ll probably be able to plead out, claim PTSD from being attacked and get life. Or if she has been a contract killer for the Russian Mafia, and if she has enough information on them, she’ll probably get witness protection. They won’t want a big public display to make a hero out of her.”
“If he didn’t do what he did, he wouldn’t have created her.”
* * *
Standing in line to pay for her gas and a refill of her coffee thermos, Melissa sees the newspaper with the headline about Mike Blauer. She whistles as she picks it up, the first time one of her jobs has made national headline news. Truthfully, other than the Max House shooting, it’s the first time any of her jobs has made the front page of any newspaper. Kill a criminal, it’s buried in the back pages. Kill a man like that, you get the front page. It should have looked enough like a robbery to fool the cops. Now every abuser can live in fear, just like their victims.
* * *
At Jackie’s desk, she enters the first name on the list, Doug Alberts. Not a recent parolee, he was killed in a prison stabbing four year ago. One of the girls he was convicted of raping was thirteen years old.
“I guess he’s off the list,” Zach says. Jackie crosses the name off the list and puts the file back into an empty box labeled “Off The Radar.”
“Child molesters don’t fare too great in prison,” Jackie says. “Comforting to know that criminals have their principles.”
Mitchell walks back into the room carrying a newspaper that has the headline about the death of Mike Blauer. “See this, guys?”
“Saw the news on it this morning,” Zach says.
“The billionaire asshole who was acquitted for assaulting his wife was found dead,” Mitchell says.
“You are thinking that our vigilante did it?” Jackie asks.
“Possibly.”
“And what’s our priority here?” Zach asks, “The serial killer or the vigilante?”
“The serial killer,” Mitchell says. “Remember our theory; she’s the survivor. They’re likely both hunting each other. Find one, probably find the other. But a killer of innocents is our priority over a killer of criminals.”
“Yeah,” Jackie says.
“Be back in a minute,” Zach says. With his head up, he walks out of the room, still shuffling his feet as Jackie enters the second name on the list, Richard Davison. Paroled five years ago, now off parole and living in San Antonio. Another one she crosses off.
“He seems to be improving,” Mitchell says as Zach walks out the door.
“Where’s he going?”
“He’s had at least three coffees. Where do you think?” Mitchell says.
Jackie enters the next name on the list, Craig Dussault. This one is interesting, a recent parolee back in the area. He was jailed for the rape of three women. She puts a check mark by his name and the file in a box labelled “Still On The Radar.”
“How many names are you checking?” Mitchell asks.
“I’ve got seventeen more to go through. None match any of the names questioned in the Cara McIsaac death.”
“Let’s just hope that the killer is on here somewhere.”
* * *
Packing up his wax gear, Colton whistles a nonsensical tune. Two coats of wax are good enough for this place. No one will notice the difference from a proper wax job. He folds the gear bags and stuffs them in large black garbage bags. Make it look like I’m taking out the trash if they check the security camera footage.
He sits in his chair and opens a notebook with a phone number written down. Vacelli girl, I’m coming for you. He pours coffee from a thermos into his travel mug. Two more hours left to kill for the allotted time the wax job would take normally. Bilk the university for all the money I can.
* * *
Finishing the last of the names that she has to go through to narrow down the suspect pool, Jackie has eight men for the task force to check. Might be a long shot or one of the men might be the killer they’re looking for. First on the list is:
Craig Dussault
Alex Facey
Chris Girard
John Harris
Joe Ingram
Malcolm Nelsen
Kyle McDonnell
Kevin Underwood
Only one of them, John Harris, was not convicted of sex crimes. He was incarcerated for burglary around the time of The Drowner killings stopped. And he was paroled recently. There is a sealed juvenile record.
“We’ll have to get that record unsealed,” Mitchell says.
“I have already put in a request for it,” Jackie’s says. “The rest contact the parole officers to have their parolees come in.”
“What did you say to our friend there?”
Jackie shrugs, smiles, and winks at Mitchell. “Just used some of my feminine wiles.”
Mitchell nods as Zach rejoins them.
“Gone through the list so quickly?” he asks.
“Yeah,” Jackie replies.
“You should consider joining the Feds,” Zach says as he pats her shoulder. “If it would help, I’d give you my recommendation.”
“When you are leading him to the police cars in handcuffs with all the TV cameras pointing at you, it will probably help then,” Jackie says.
“So, what next?” Zach asks.
“We’ve put in a request for one guy’s juvenile record to be unsealed, and now we contact the parole officers of the other seven,” Mitchell says.
She hands four files to Mitchell and takes three for herself.
“Anything I can do?” Zach asks.
Mitchell hands him two of his files and Jackie gives him one of hers.
“Make calls,” Mitchell says.
Smiling, Zach grabs an empty chair, sits down and punches in the number for the first parole officer.
* * *
On the empty two-lane highway, Melissa is riding without her helmet, taking in the breeze as she cruises. This is what it’s like to be free. No men to harm or try and control you. Nothing to be worried about except the next gas fill up two hours away.
Haven’t had sex in days. It will happen when I see Danil though. He’ll probably like the glow in the dark condoms I bought, only use them one time. We’ve tried for ten years to have kids. He must think I’m damaged goods now. And how can I expect a man to treat me good when I think of myself like that?
Up ahead, there’s a small rest stop with picnic tables; an empty place to eat alone. Take the opportunity now. She pulls into the stop. From one of the cargo bins of her bike, she takes out a deli meat sandwich she bought at the last fill up. She smells the meat and it hasn’t gone bad yet. At one of the tables, she eats with her left hand holding the sandwich, her right hand in
her cargo pocket holding her gun. Each pair of cargo pants she owns has a holster sewn into it. Only a trained person would recognize her carrying a concealed weapon by the way she walks.
As she eats, she constantly looks around her. It would be great not to have to live this way, always fearful of what lies around the corner. But men made me what I am. One day I’ll be free and, if I’m lucky, still alive.
* * *
At his desk, Mitchell is typing something into his computer.
“What are you doing now?” Jackie asks him.
“Just on a hunch, I’m putting in a query to the hotels and motels between here and Chicago if someone by the name of Celine Charlebois ever stayed there. Also contacting the Chicago Police to see if we can get any details on the case. We’ll share what we know about our vigilante,” Mitchell says.
“Would she really use a name she used before?” Jackie asks.
Mitchell shrugs. “It’s worth a shot if it helps close three cases.”
“Weren’t there other letters sent to the police and the media?” Jackie asks Zach. “I can’t believe the ones we recently got are the only ones he sent.”
“There were some. I’ll go look for them in my boxes.”
“Mitch, we have the one he sent to us and the media this time around, don’t we?” Jackie asks.
“That we do.”
“We should get them to provide a language sample,” Zach says.
Mitchell takes out the most recent letter that was sent to the police.
Did you really think I’d gone? I just took a break. There are so many sweet little bitches all over this country. Killing them, it’s just as fun as fucking them. Maybe even better. Funny, though. You think the six you have on me are the only ones? There’s more all over the place. Even in this town. Shall I brag a little more? Of course, I should, I am currently batting a perfect score. And you stupid cops are at zero. Of course, I can’t give you all the numbers, can’t make your job too easy for you. I doubt you’re smart enough to find them all. Ha, ha, ha, ha. I’m the reason you fear the dark. Don’t go out alone ladies? Isn’t that what you tell them? What makes you think I can’t take two at once? That will be my next goal.
“Unfortunately, both were typed but there’s this prick’s mentality, kid,” Mitchell says.
“A life’s goal to cause fear. Killing them is just as fun, he says.”
“He probably has very little experience with sex beyond raping them.”
“Really?” Jackie asks.
“Men who have fulfilling relationships with women don’t usually rape and murder them.”
“Do you think they’d let me be the one to execute him by impaling him up his ass? Just so he knows how it feels?”
Mitchell laughs as Zach returns with five letters from The Drowner.
“Unfortunately,” Mitchell takes the letters from him, “we have to show that we’re better than the criminals we pursue.”
Zach opens the file as he puts it on the desk between Mitchell and Jackie. “Here are the letters.”
All but one of the five letters are typed. “A mistake that might be useful for us,” Mitchell says.
“How’s that?” Jackie asks.
“Put the letter in the newspapers and online to see if anyone recognizes the handwriting.”
Wasn’t that tried ten years ago?” Jackie asks.
“Yeah, it was,” Mitchell answers, “but it’s worth a try again.”
“The other letters can be put online as well,” Zach says without mumbling, looking straight at Mitchell and Jackie. “People might recognize the writer in a similar way to how the Unabomber was caught.”
Many times, police have been successful in soliciting the public’s help in catching serial killers and solving other crimes. Mitchell scans the handwritten letter into the computer and Jackie starts calling the crime beat reporters of the local newspapers and TV stations to get it put in the paper.
“We’ll have a website set up with other evidence we are able to put up for the public to go to,” she says.
“More proactive techniques, we can do a whole social media campaign, tighten the noose around him. With pressure mounting on him, he’ll be bound to make mistakes,” Zach says smiling.
Mitchell scans the four typed letters into the computer, “We’ll get this to tech to get the site set up and start on this avenue.”
“I’ll contact the ones who were trailing Arlene Benoit to find out where she was at the time of Mike Blauer’s killing,” Jackie says.
Zach checks the police reports and sees the report about the six kids who had a run in with a woman that didn’t end so well for them.
“Check this out here,” he shows them the report. “Maybe show the kids the picture of Arlene to see if that was the woman.”
Chapter 46
C olton pulls up to Danny’s Dance and Pool Hall. Haven’t played pool in years. This will be a reward for all the work he’s done lately. Shoot some eight ball and do a little hunting. Talked to two Vacellis today who have no relative named Melissa; didn’t leave voice mails for the other three. I’ll write another letter to the cops tomorrow just to remind them how much smarter I am than they are and they’ll never catch me.
Walking into the bar, he presses his hands together, his eyes gleaming as he sees about fifty young women on the dance floor. Perfect hunting grounds. One will be leaving here tonight and will never be seen again. The table by the pool players will be a great vantage point to scan the place. Something’s bound to come up here. And then tomorrow find that Melissa chick and eliminate that threat.
“Bud Light,” he says to the waitress as she walks by him. She winks at him as he puts down four quarters on a pool table next to him. There are four others ahead of him waiting to play against the current winner of the table.
Sipping on his beer, he starts scanning the bar looking for that woman who’d be the perfect target. She’ll probably be on her own, or isn’t getting the attention of a guy. He stalks the room like a lion on the Serengeti that can pick up on its prey, a gazelle or zebra that might seem a little weaker than the others; a girl that doesn’t seem as confident in herself who will welcome a free drink and a chat with a charming man.
There she is, the petite brunette sitting down at the bar. She’s cute and not too made up. But why did her friend, the red head, leave her at the bar alone to go out on the dance floor with the black guy? He left his friends to ask her to dance; the other two are staying in their seats. The ball game is on, but if you want to watch a game and not pick up girls you stay at home. Instead of watching her friend, the brunette is staring at her drink. Wouldn’t she want to make sure her friend was safe? Got my target now. Too bad for you, little lady. Your life is coming to an end soon.
* * *
Melissa is jolted fully awake as her bike veers onto the shoulder of the asphalt. She barely regains control when she gets back into the lane. Thank God for the rumble strip. But she had renounced God years ago. Maybe the three Hail Mary prayers she did protected her. Only a few thousand more and I might get redemption.
Melissa’s stomach rumbles with hunger pangs and her eyes are heavy with the exhaustion of a long ride. Her GPS shows only forty more minutes until the next gas station. All of them have coffee and some sort of food to fuel herself up along with her bike.
But what would happen out here? That’s what I thought ten years ago and my life has been ruined ever since. Is what she accomplished truly something to be proud of? Someone had to be the counterstrike to the suffering men have inflicted. How great it would have been, as with Eddie, to truly know the touch of love; a real man whose strong arms lift you up and hold you tight and show how it truly feels to be loved. Danil uses me for his business; that’s what’s important to him. But I use him back. Without him I couldn’t do my mission.
* * *
There are two more players ahead of Colton at the pool table. When the waitress comes to collect his empty beer bottle, he orders another an
d orders a drink for the girl he has set his sights on, but tells the waitress not to let her know who it’s coming from.
Make the lonely girl think she has a secret admirer; easier to take her. And perhaps take the friend who is sipping on her drink after leaving the dance floor. I did promise the cops that I would take two in one night in my last letter.
When the waitress delivers the girl her drink of choice, a Singapore Sling, Colton observes her looking around the bar for who it could have been.
He’s restraining himself from bursting out laughing. Does she not know as a woman she can get laid anytime she wants? Go up to any guy here and you’re having sex tonight. Stupid little bitch, it will be your undoing. I am going to have some fun with you. What shall I do first, though? Carry her around over my shoulder, or kill her first? That wouldn’t be any fun. Having someone know they’re at your mercy is so much better. Use a heated blade on her or just do her like there’s no tomorrow? The planning is almost as good as the actual doing; almost, but not quite. I can’t wait to get this girl home.
The news broadcast interrupts the baseball game between the Marlins and the Washington Nationals. Colton looks over at it and sees the composite sketch of The Drowner, not seeing the similarity to him. Once that comes up, a website address for catchthedrowner.com appears. Must check that out as he turns his attention back to the girl he has set his sights on. She’s still nursing her drink with her friend. The brunette shrugs at her friend.
Good. The waitress didn’t tell you who bought you the drink. Now hurry up and finish so I can get you another one.
* * *
After finishing fuelling her bike, Melissa moves it away from the pumps so she can take a break; get a quick coffee and sandwich before hitting the road again. She enters the store and finds the refrigerator. There’s not much selection. Ham and cheese or chicken salad? She moves her hand back and forth between the two sandwiches. Both. She then takes a large cup and fills it with coffee.
At the cash register, her bill is thirty-five dollars. She pays in cash. “Are there any tables outside to sit at?”
“Just to the right of the store.”
Melissa walks outside and finds the lone table. As she starts eating, she notices that the clerk is watching her as he’s talking on the phone. Her body tenses as she stops eating the sandwich and crushes the coffee cup, spilling most of it out. Dumping the remaining coffee out, she takes the cup and remaining food with her and sticks it in the cargo bin of the bike. She gets on the bike and rides off, continually checking her mirrors as the gas station disappears out of sight.