by Lilya Myers
“You know, Russ and I hadn’t decided on where we would go for our honeymoon. But, I’ll tell ya, I think coming here has clinched the deal. It’s beautiful and so romantic. Russ would love it.”
“Rache…I think Russ could honeymoon in a cave in the middle of a jungle and love it, as long as he’s with you. But yes, this place is magnificent! I can’t imagine why my mom and dad didn’t want to come back.” Both girls got quiet and pensive while taking in the scenery and listening to the waves.
“Hey Rachel, do you need anything from the room? I just realized the time and I promised to call Able. Do you mind if I desert you for a little bit?”
“No, go ahead, I’m good. I’m enjoying this. We’ve been going non-stop and I am in heaven right where I am.”
Sarah pulled her cover-up on as she trudged through the sand toward the walkway on the strand. The clerk recommended that they try this section of beach because of the popularity of the view but it was quite a walk from their hotel. The strand had a cement pathway that helped to make the walk pleasant enough. There were little kiosks and shops along the way that sold food, rented snorkeling equipment and other beach accessories.
There was nothing unusual about men of any age admiring young, beautiful women strolling along the beach. Some were most vocal about it, depending upon whether or not they were alone. Sarah was always one to observe her surroundings. She could have sworn that a man wearing sunglasses and an expensive gauze shirt over shorts looked familiar somehow. He appeared to be looking at her but it was hard to tell through his dark glasses. Maybe he caught me staring at him? Maybe I’m reading something into it that’s not there. Sarah continued to walk past him into her hotel, trying to place where she had seen him before. Odd. Troubling and calming at the same time.
No sooner had she entered the hotel than she snapped her fingers as the image dawned on her. He was the guy I saw in the cafe in Egypt. As quickly as the thought came, she pushed it away. For one thing, it was absurd to think that this was the same man. Two entirely different countries? We’re talking countries, Sarah, and different times!
“Come on, Sarah. That was a whole year ago and the man today was wearing sunglasses. You really couldn’t get a good look at his face –” Sarah stopped when she realized that she was talking to herself out loud and people were looking at her. Her mouth instantly clamped shut as she stepped up her pace to the elevators. The doors couldn’t open and close fast enough, although it didn’t look like anyone was rushing to ride the elevator with the crazy American who was talking to herself. By the time she got to the room, Sarah had convinced herself that she was just being silly and never bothered to mention it to Able.
***
The killer’s primary goal this trip was to keep the police busy and make a quick exit. No fun and games. Too bad. He had already chosen two targets that could be taken within less than thirty minutes of each other. It would be a first and his timing would have to be impeccable. Two syringes, extra zip ties, gloves, and the items he had surreptitiously gathered from the compound. He went over the list in his mind. Actually, he found the challenge itself to be exhilarating, especially since one would still be alive to watch the other die. He knew exactly what he had to do and just how he was going to do it.
Ritchie was a teenager from Brooklyn. His parents had a summer place on Long Island and they decided to come out during Easter break to get the place ready for summer. No way were they leaving a fifteen year old kid to his own devices in the city while they were on the Island. Besides, it would do his lazy ass good to be put to work.
Ritchie didn’t find it too intolerable because his parents went to bed early and slept like logs. That made it real easy for him to sneak out for a little while to smoke a joint. The teenager went on a few hunting expeditions during the day and thought he had found himself the perfect secluded spot behind an old abandoned house. It wasn’t the most ideal location since it was a good ten minute walk from his bungalow. On the other hand, there was little chance of anyone sneaking up on him out there.
He was ready to get high. He waited about an hour after his parents went to bed and were in a deep sleep before pulling on a pair of jeans and putting on his tennis shoes. Ritchie prepared earlier by putting a flashlight, a joint, and a lighter between the mattress. His window had already been opened and he’d fixed the screen too so he could remove it without making any noise. Once he was away from their bungalow, he slipped out into the darkness and flipped on the light.
The place he found looked as though it was sitting in the middle of a jungle, almost camouflaged by all the growth, except for around the door. In the daylight, he noticed that the windows looked like they had all been boarded up from the inside. This thick wooded area didn’t seem as creepy in the daytime as it was at that moment. He found the huge tree stump that he’d seen earlier where he could get comfortable and lean against the backside of the house. Anything was better than sitting on the ground with who-knew-what crawling around there. He lit up the joint, took a few hits, and soon found himself pumping his head this way and that in time with the cricket choir. He was jolted back into a semi-reality by a sound that was out of place with his crickets. Crickets scream? It amused him. At first.
The boy could have sworn that it sounded like a woman. Muffled, barely audible, but a woman all the same. He pressed his ear to the house just in time to hear the faintest but most blood-curdling scream he’d ever heard. He held his breath and listened. There it was again.
If it was real, surely it would be louder. It’s got to be the television or something. Or something. The place is boarded up. No one could possibly be living in there, and if no one is living there…
Ritchie wondered if he was hallucinating. Maybe there was something weird in that joint he smoked. A friend had gotten it from someone else and gave it to him. Twenty minutes or so passed without another sound. The teenager finally started to relax. Didn’t want to relax too much and fall asleep out there. Thinking that his would be a good time to go home, plug in his ear buds, and listen to some music for a while, he slid off the makeshift tree stump chair. His legs wobbled, telling him that there was still plenty left of his high to enjoy. Ritchie reached for the flashlight and fumbled to find the switch. That’s when he heard it and froze.
CHAPTER 53
THE KILLER USUALLY prevailed over pressure but not tonight. Something was off and he sensed it. He knew he’d have to move the bodies out and quickly get as far away from there as possible. He had booked the flight out of New Haven, Connecticut under his alias. At the time, it seemed like a good idea. It would take him just a little under three hours to drive all the way up there by car. Hopping the ferry across was a risk he didn’t want to take. Since it was reasonably close to the park preserve, there’d be more than enough time to stop by the apartment for a shower and change into the only set of clean clothes left there. He couldn’t remember exactly when he had decided to start doing his work in the nude, particularly if he was rushed. It was one less set of clothes he’d have to worry about disposing.
Before he left his rented flat that morning, he set a note to the landlord in plain sight on the counter. It read that he would forfeit his deposits in lieu of the fact that he wasn’t able to give them the required thirty days’ notice. It was a furnished flat, and the deposits were substantial. Next to the note was a cashier’s check for an additional three months’ rent. It would be taken as a sincere gesture and allay any ill feelings, or legal action. No need to draw any unwanted attention in his direction. He’d rented the place under his alias but still, he was obsessive about covering his tracks. And making some in other places. After all, that attitude served him well all these years.
Any other personal items that belonged to him had already been removed long ago. Earlier, he’d packed a small carry-on for the flight and put it in the car. Any prints that could have been left accidentally were thoroughly wiped down before he left. Neat and tidy. He’d make a quick stop back later for a s
hower and change of clothes, then be out for good. There shouldn’t be any complaints whatsoever from the powers that be.
***
The door of the abandoned house was particularly thick and heavy with soundproofing. He didn’t mean to let it hit the inside wall. As he was packing the first of the two women wrapped in plastic out to his car, the plastic accidentally got hung up on the door handle. Bloody hell, he said to himself, as he wrestled to free it. The door sprung and was launched against the wall. The sound was deafening to him in the woods, in the still of the night.
Both women were small and light. The inconvenience of having to make two round trips all the way out to where he parked wasn’t so much a problem. But time. Time was always his main concern, even though he was way ahead of schedule tonight.
Ritchie heard a loud thud. A door? He waited a few seconds before he stealthily tip-toed around the side of the house. Peeking out around the corner, he barely caught a glimpse of movement. He squinted to sharpen his sight just as the back of a big man carrying something large over his shoulder disappeared into the darkness. By the time anyone found the place, the small path the murderer had cut through the woods would be overgrown with indigenous poison weed varieties and kudzu.
The woman in the house still had to be wrapped tightly in the thick, heavy plastic. Couldn’t leave the car in a mess. Rigor was still hours away so the bodies remained pliable. And who would be out in the woods in the middle of the night this time of year? He picked up his pace as he let a string of thoughts go through his mind. The nights were still quite chilly. Teenagers who might want to slip out of the house for some clandestine making-out session would think twice. There was a park preserve not too many miles east of where he stood where he decided he’d arrange the bodies.
Ritchie weighed the odds of the man returning and whether or not he should go inside the house, not stopping to consider that there might be another person inside. His sober mind would have been screaming danger. His state of high embraced curiosity and wasn’t calculating the risks. He slipped around the corner and through the door. The hallway was dark with a sliver of light coming from a room off to the right. He moved quietly toward the open door. There, on top of a table, lay the mutilated and bloodied remains of a woman with heavy plastic sheathing draped beneath her. All time stood still while the blood drained from his own face and the gag reflex began to build from the pit of his stomach. Suddenly remembering the man, and now afraid that he’d be coming back for the bundle of mangled flesh and blood, the boy slapped his hand over his mouth and doubled over. There was no time for that, or he could be next. He had to get out of there now.
Adrenaline pumping, Ritchie came flying out of the house and ran just as the killer approached through a small clearing. They had spotted one another at the same time.
The Mutilator had a split second to decide whether he’d chase and kill the kid or get the hell out of there. Even if he caught the boy now, he could be risking more unwanted attention. His anger escalated as he turned and jogged back into the house. Working efficiently and quickly, he wrapped the plastic tightly around the second body and hustled to the car, all the while rearranging his next steps. No one had ever thrown him off his game plan like this. Except for the one in the boat. That was different. He pulled away slowly and quietly so he wouldn’t attract any undue attention but his mind was still on what the kid was doing there. Assuring himself that the darkness obscured his face didn’t do much to tamp down his anger. I hope whatever he saw scared the shit out of him enough to keep his mouth shut, at least until I’m out of here.
The killer always allowed himself a slight edge. His anger was galvanized just knowing that he’d have to use that reserve to simply dump the bodies instead of staging them as usual. If he hadn’t left his clothes and his passport at the apartment, he wouldn’t bother to go back there either.
Ritchie gasped for air. All he could do was run without looking back, until he reached the edge of his property. He bent forward, leaning on his knees for support. No way was he going to be able to climb through his window like this. He looked at the bungalow where he left his parents sleeping. No lights on. It was as quiet as when he left. His heart pounded like a bass drum. Being grounded for the rest of his life was not an option. Worse yet, they’d send him to military school if they found out he was smoking pot.
Then again, anything was better than being dead if the killer was after him. Ritchie convinced himself to get inside the house first and think his situation through.
The Mutilator wasn’t sensing anything out of the ordinary. He circled his old apartment three times to be on the safe side. The drive helped calm his nerves. Hoping that the kid had messed himself but good had to suffice for now. The thought swept him back to a scene that took place many years ago.
He unlocked the door to the apartment for the last time. There was caked sand and dirt from the preserve park on his tennis shoes. He balanced himself with his hand against the door frame to brush off his shoes before going in. He made a beeline for the shower. The hot water felt good but there was no time to indulge. He dried off and quickly dressed in the clean clothes he had left there. He picked up his .380 and fitted it into his waistband. He’d dump it before he got on the plane.
Wiping down the shower for prints, then the rest of the bathroom, he bundled the dirty clothes into the towel under his arm. They’d be easy to get rid of along the way. Taking one last glance around, the Mutilator was satisfied that everything was in order. He wiped down the key and set it on the counter next to the check. Then using a corner of the towel, he pulled the door shut behind him.
The dirty laundry got thrown onto the floorboard of the car. A quick pat of his pocket for the keys and he’d be on his way. A passport came out along with the keys. There was a problem. This was his real passport. The flight out of New Haven had been booked under his alias. That was the passport he needed now. He searched frantically through his pockets. He had it when he was in the abandoned house. He took a quick mental inventory of everything he did before he left with the bodies, and realized that the passport was right where he placed it – on the small table in the corner of the room out of the way of blood spatter. His own blood rushed to his face in anger. If it hadn’t been for that kid… The question was unavoidable now but the answer was certainly not his last resort. The place was on the way. I could be in and out of there under five minutes. But was it worth the gamble?
CHAPTER 54
INFORMATION ON RUSS’S end had been coming at him so fast that trying to process and piece it all together was like trying to stand upright in the middle of an F5 tornado. The FBI had been granted permission to search several locations in Egypt. These investigations had produced a goldmine of information. When they had searched Catello’s room in Amsterdam, they found a plethora of intelligence. A few tidbits of pertinent information had been shared with Russ, courtesy Dan’s friend. The puzzle pieces kept dropping into place. The wheels of justice were in motion.
And the killer had struck again. Joey tried reaching Russ, hoping he’d cut a break and catch him in between flights and meetings. He left a message with the Oakland police and caught Russ just as he was arriving at the airport.
“I’ll give you one guess –”
“Another one?”
“No. Not one. He doubled down. We’ve got two…I’ll spare you the details right now. I know we gotta go through all the legal hoops but it would take only one thing to make me not believe it’s our guy. The good news is that he’s getting sloppy and left a few things behind for us. We’re fast-tracking everything we can. I’m just now heading back to the station. It looked like our guy was in a big hurry this time.”
“Look, I’ll catch a private flight out of here right now and head straight for MacArthur airport. I should be there in about five hours. Have Detectives Bassetti and Lanzo work the new crime scene. You’ll have your work cut out for you in the meantime. I explained everything in the fax from Oakland. Did you ge
t it?”
“A fax was coming in earlier just as I was heading out and I didn’t have a chance to look at it.” Joey said anxiously.
“Well, look at it before you do anything else. I think Dan’s agent friend handed us a pot of gold. I just hope we’re not too late. Gotta hang up. Get on that fax!” With that, Russ ran across the tarmac to the waiting plane.
***
Hashim couldn’t believe his eyes. He thought surely this wasn’t the same young woman he’d seen in Cairo. Yet this was a face that he couldn’t mistake. It appeared as though she was by herself. He wanted to follow her but he couldn’t imagine what he’d do if she turned and confronted him.
Oh, excuse me, Miss, I couldn’t help but stare. You look so much like my deceased wife and I just thought you may be the daughter I gave up over twenty years ago.
Knowing how the young women were these days, that line would either be laughable or land him in jail. She’d probably think he was a lecherous old man. Or worse yet, some psychopath stalking her.
Hashim didn’t know how close to the truth he had come with that thought. He had no idea that there was a murderous maniac on the loose near where his beloved Sarai, correction –Sarah, lived on Long Island.
He chased away the memories that he’d been able to keep under lock and key. To allow them out was just too painful. He couldn’t count how many times he wanted to contact Dan. It served him right for coming back to Capri. What was I thinking? he questioned himself. It’s why he made a point of staying away all these years. Hashim wondered if this was what getting old did to a person. Old people started imagining things and believing things that didn’t really happen.