Twisted

by Laura K. Curtis

  “Fair enough.” Lucy clicked the appropriate keys on her computer while Jake explained the program’s design to Scott.

  “Computer-based profiling? Not afraid of putting yourself out of a job?”

  “Nah,” Jake said. “The program doesn’t interpret, it just finds patterns. Like a super-advanced ViCAP. In this case, that’s where you come in. If we develop any kind of profile out of the information the computer analyzes, you’re the one most likely to recognize it.”

  “You really believe Renee Josephs’s killer could be local?”

  “I do. And even if you don’t recognize the man from the profile, you’ll probably recognize the type. You can give us direction. While the program works its magic, I’ll give you my impressions from the data you uploaded: This guy is organized. In his regular life, he’s controlling in the extreme, probably because he has something to prove. As a kid, he was second fiddle at home, never good enough, though others may not have realized it because outside the home he put up a front. As an adult, he’s playing out a fantasy of overcoming that.”

  “You think he killed all those missing women?”

  “Most of them. Certainly the ones who reported stalkings prior to disappearing.”

  “And the rapes with a partner?”

  “If he did those, and it’s possible he did, his partner is the subservient one. This guy cedes control to no one under any circumstances.”

  The computer beeped.

  “Ah. The first true test. Let’s see what the program has come up with.”

  “It agrees with you. No surprise there,” Lucy teased. As she read, however, humor deserted her. “The computer notes similarities in victimology. Not in appearance, but in position in society. All middle class or better, no poor or homeless, no prostitutes. Women who’d be missed. As far as we can tell, none of these women were even having affairs, let alone taking money for sex. The rapist had no reason outside of his own mind to call them whores. The program has flagged that as an anomaly.

  “Most of them were also last seen in very public spots. Malls, churches, schools. Jeez.”

  “How in hell could we not have known this was going on?” Scott muttered. “Eight years’ worth of women.”

  “It’s easy,” Jake replied. “Predators like this guy count on it. They switch municipalities, switch counties, relying on a lack of communication to keep them safe from detection. And he muddied the waters by killing off a few so they wouldn’t show up as his victims.”

  “But why allow us, even force us, to find Renee when he’s hidden the rest of the dead women?”

  Scott asked “You tell me.”

  “I told TJ he had used Renee as a billboard.”

  “I agree,” said Jake. “He’s tired of hiding out, not being recognized for what he considers his genius and importance. Something changed for him.”

  “You,” Scott said. “You’re the only thing that’s changed in this town. And even though Renee wasn’t from here, he left her here. So stands to reason she’s meant for you.”

  “Again, I agree. He knows you, Luce. Either from your past, or from your books. Renee’s murder may have been his idea of a challenge to you: Solve this if you can. You’re his nemesis.”

  Lucy fingered her scar and thought about Billy Pike. But Pike hadn’t killed Cecile, and TJ had checked his alibi for the rapes. Unless, of course, the man hadn’t committed all the crimes, only some of them. And why would he have waited so long to begin his reign of terror? Billy hadn’t left Dobbs Hollow for any appreciable length of time since high school.

  Before she could ask Jake what might trigger the rapist’s behavior, her phone rang. When she saw Artie’s name on the readout, she slipped into the bedroom to answer it.

  “Tim?”

  “He’s not with you?” Artie’s gravelly, familiar voice held a hint of desperation, and Lucy’s knees went to spaghetti. She sat down hard on the bed.

  “He’s supposed to be in Dallas!” Her shout brought both Jake and Scott to the door.

  “I got home from work and found a note that he’d left to go home to you. Says he was worried. But I haven’t been able to reach him on his cell.”

  “Oh God.”

  “Luce, I know Timmy’s handwriting. He wrote this. Maybe his phone’s off or has run out of juice and he doesn’t realize it.”

  “No. He wouldn’t do that to me. They have him.”

  “They? You know who’s gaslighting you?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” She scrubbed her face with one hand, and consciously tried to loosen her grip on the phone. “Ethan and Jake both seem to think we’re chasing more than one person. Possibly one who killed my mom and doesn’t want me digging into the past, and a separate, serial offender who killed Renee Josephs and has been active in the area for a while and could also see the investigation as a threat.”

  “And you think one of them might have . . .what? Driven up here and forced Tim to leave a note? Because I’d swear on my life, he wrote that note himself.”

  “I don’t know!” Behind her, Lucy could hear Jake on the phone speaking in a low, urgent whisper. “What have I done, Artie? This wasn’t supposed to affect anyone else!”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “No, really, you don’t have to—”

  “Of course I do.”

  Jake had apparently hung up his own phone, because he sat beside her on the bed and held out his hand. She passed him her cell, and he spoke to Artie. The two had met when Lucy was working on the Paxton book.

  “You stick with your contacts up there. See what they can find out. We’ll want the roads searched between there and here. If he did leave of his own accord, he’ll be in his own car. Get an APB out on it. When did you last talk to him?”

  Scott’s phone rang and, although he stepped out into the hall to answer it, she missed some of what Jake and Artie were discussing. “Yes, we’ve got it from this end. Don’t worry. We’ll get him back safely.”

  He flipped the phone closed at precisely the same moment Scott came back into the room.

  “I’m leaving,” Scott said. “Chief changed my orders. I’m to drop by the station, pick up that list of chores that was found in the woods, and drive back out to Jed Martin’s place. Make one of his employees go over the list with me, show me each and every item and where it would be done, what products would be used. And while I am there I’m to check and be certain Jed’s on the property and hasn’t taken off for Dallas for an afternoon.”

  He reached out hesitantly and touched Lucy’s shoulder. “We’ll find your brother. Ethan’s on his way back here.”

  “Thanks.” She tried to smile, but failed.

  Scott took off, and Lucy began to pace.

  “There has to be something I can do.”

  “You can,” Jake assured her. “Let’s sort out who’s who in this screwed-up town.”

  “What do you mean?” Her mind was whirling, still too focused on Tim to understand what Jake was getting at.

  “As you said to Artie, there’s a lot going on and we don’t know who’s involved in what. So let’s back out for a minute and get a broad view.”

  “Okay.”

  “We need a big piece of paper, since I am pretty sure your friend doesn’t keep a whiteboard in her apartment.”

  They hunted around until they found a large pad, and Jake made several columns on it. The first he labeled Cecile, the second Renee, the third Drew, the fourth Rape Victims, the fifth Richie and Truck Guy, and the last Buried Victim.

  “Hell of a lot of violent crime for one small town, even if the rape victims are from surrounding areas.”

  “I know.” And when she saw them all laid out like that, it seemed crazy to believe they could be connected. She ran a finger down the page, allowing her brain to switch modes.

  “But given th
e geography, at least some of them virtually have to be. The idea that you could have so many different killers running loose at the same time doesn’t make any sense.”

  “So our first goal is to figure out which ones fit with which others?” “Or which doesn’t. And the first one that stands out to me is Richie Mack and the mysterious body in the truck bed. Them and Drew Dobbs. The victimology is all wrong. Renee is almost certainly related to the rape victims. Right social class, right gender, victim of rape before her murder, and the writing on her body would be in line with what the victims reported being said during their attacks.”

  “And my mother?”

  “I don’t think so. Can’t be sure, but a guy who kills a woman doesn’t go into hiding for ten years, then become a rapist for several years before he kills again. No, I think she belongs to a different group, if she doesn’t turn out to be a lone, aberrant victim of a personal vendetta.”

  “Well, Drew and Richie are opposite ends of the social spectrum, but they were buddies in high school.”

  “Drew’s murder was extremely impersonal: rifle shot from a distance. Nothing like the kind of rage evident in the other killings. I wonder whether he just knew too much.”

  “He was always glad-handing people around town, like his father. I suppose he might have seen or heard about the crimes in his travels. But why wouldn’t he have spoken up right away, and why would he have gone out to Belle Pointe in the middle of the night?”

  “Generally, those two questions point in a single direction: blackmail.” Jake scrawled Blackmail? in the column beneath Drew’s name.

  “Yeah. So Drew’s in a catch-22: he knows about a killer, but that killer also has dirt on him. He goes to meet the guy—to make an exchange possibly?—and the guy kills him.”

  “Which implies that he knew the person well enough to trust him,” Jake mused.

  “That’s a pretty large group, because he had an ego that wouldn’t quit and probably thought no one would dare touch him.”

  “So, let’s exclude him from everything for the moment.” Jake chewed the back of the pen he was using for a few minutes, then spoke again.

  “Socially speaking, your mother fits better with the buried woman and Richie and Truck Guy than she does with Renee or Drew. She lived on the edges, didn’t have anyone to make a fuss over her murder. Low risk to the killer.”

  “She also fits the emotional tone better. At least, with Richie and Truck Guy. You don’t skin a guy and cut him into pieces without being pretty damned pissed off. That was true in my mother’s case, too.” The clinical tone of her voice surprised even her, and she felt Jake’s stare, but refused to acknowledge it. Her mother had been dead almost twenty years. Tim was still alive, and she was going to find him, no matter what it took.

  “There’s a certain degree of planning involved in those murders, but it’s nothing like what the other three sets took. I’m inclined to divide these into two, possibly three offenders. One who is responsible for the rapes and disappearances, Renee’s murder, and possibly Drew’s as well. I’d put Richie and Truck Guy, along with the buried woman, at someone else’s door. Your mother—she fits in with them or she’s alone.”

  “Yeah,” Lucy said slowly, “but the thing that bothers me is that, as alike as they are in victimology and emotional intensity, those three killings are completely different in terms of disposal. My mother he left in her home. Possibly she was his first kill, and he hadn’t thought about it. Or he thought it wouldn’t make any difference whether she was found or not. The buried woman he made at least a nominal effort to hide. She wasn’t buried too deep, and within a few weeks the wildlife would have gotten at her and there wouldn’t be much left to analyze. But Richie he used to make a statement. It’s . . .inconsistent.”

  “Could be an arc,” Jake offered. “Cecile’s his first kill. It’s exciting and he likes it. As you said, he didn’t believe it mattered whether she was found or not. But as time went on, he realized that if he was going to indulge himself, he had to be more careful. In which case I would expect there would be more victims in the woods. Likely low-risk targets for him. Took them out there and killed them, buried them. Somewhere along the line he started selling drugs or partnered up with someone who did. This gave him access to a whole new set of victims. Life was good. And then you came along and started asking a lot of very inconvenient questions.”

  “Not to mention that suddenly someone else is in his territory killing people.”

  “Exactly. In fact, the idea that the two of these unknown subjects—the rapist and the killer—may never have known about each other if not for you is one we should look at. They’re probably both trying to figure out what the hell is happening.

  “But back to our killer. He, or he and his drug-dealing partner, need to get you out of town. You’re a high-risk target. They may wish they could kill you, but you’re way out of their league and they still have enough self-preservation left not to want to take that risk.”

  The front door opened, and in one smooth move Jake pulled a gun Lucy hadn’t even realized he was wearing from a holster in the small of his back. But it was Ethan.

  A sudden rush of emotion paralyzed her for a moment. The fear for her brother’s safety that she’d tucked away during her work with Jake came flooding back, followed immediately by relief. Tears filled her eyes.

  Ethan suffered no such hesitation. In seconds, he’d tugged her out of her chair and into his arms. She found herself pressed against his broad chest and felt his hand stroking through her hair.

  “They took Tim,” she managed.

  “I know, sweetheart. But we’ll get him back. I’ve sent Scott—”

  “He told us,” said Jake.

  “Good. Keith is on his way to Eric’s. He’ll keep an eye on him until Eric goes to work.” As Ethan explained what he’d learned about Jed and Eric, and his plan to confront Eric at the feed factory, Lucy saw Jake nodding.

  “When Jake called me about Tim, I asked TJ to take over the job of getting Farmer’s permission to search—as a Dobbs, she has the best chance of getting him to agree—and I came back here.”

  “So they’re being watched, then? Eric and Jed?”

  “They are. We’ll get them, Lucy.”

  “I hate to be the one to throw a wrench into things,” Jake said, “but from the little I’ve heard about these two, I sincerely doubt they’re capable of organizing a kidnapping. They’re much more likely to be our disorganized killers, the ones responsible for the body buried in the woods.” He filled Ethan in on what they’d worked out before Artie’s call.

  “Then we have two serial offenders, or two sets, operating in close proximity to each other. Is that even possible?” Ethan voiced the same objection that haunted Lucy.

  “Statistically? It’s not probable.” Jake shrugged. “But that’s why you can’t rely on probability alone, and why machines won’t ever take the place of cops. Let’s say our guy killed Lucy’s mother in a rage, and felt no remorse. Given how careless he was about the scene, I’d peg it as his first. Afterward, he wanted to share his triumphs, and he found a friend. I doubt the friend ever would have come up with the idea on his own, but he didn’t object, either. We want to lay those murders at Jed Martin and Eric Allenby’s feet. That means there’s someone else in this town as cruel and unfeeling as they are.

  “That lack of empathy, the lack of objection, is probably the key to your second set of crimes. I’d lay odds your ViCAP guy comes from Dobbs Hollow as well, even though he’s been operating over several counties. He’s a product of the same culture of violence, for want of a better phrase, that spawned Jed and Eric.” He flicked a troubled glance at Lucy.

  “Small towns are like little petri dishes. Whatever’s planted can flourish. And all you have to do is think about your own childhood to know what was cultivated in Dobbs Hollow: violence, prejudice, bigotry. That they�
�re bearing fruit now isn’t such a great surprise.”

  “They’ll know each other,” Lucy insisted. “Or if they’re not sure, they’ll have an idea. This is a small town! How could they not? I want to be there when you go after Eric.”

  “You can come down for the interrogation. Both of you. In fact, I may need you to come in on it, to provoke him. But you can’t be there when we go to the plant for Eric.”

  “If he’s heard something—”

  “If he’s heard something, we’ll get it out of him. I promise you, Lucy.”

  “But Tim’s my brother. I need—”

  “What you need is for the case to be workable against whoever killed your mother and kidnapped your brother. And that means I can’t let you come to the plant.”

  Jake coughed. “I’m going to take a walk. Clear my head. I wrote my cell number on the pad we were using to sort things out if you need me before I get back.” Lucy nodded, but she wasn’t really paying attention as he slipped out the door. Rather, she focused on Ethan.

  “I know gathering evidence the right way is important, and I trust you, I do—” To her surprise, Ethan stiffened and gently set her away from him. Lucy felt suddenly cold, and rubbed her arms.

  “Ethan?”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t trust me,” he said. He moved away and sat on the couch, refusing to look at her.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Christ, Lucy, I’m so sorry.” He massaged his knee and stared at the floor. “I tried to tell you earlier, but things kept getting in the way.”

  “Tell me what?” She dropped down on the sofa next to him and took his big hand in hers, rubbing his long fingers between her own. Still, he didn’t raise his eyes.

  “After my injury, I had surgeries. Several of them. My knee was a mess. I was on painkillers for months. It wasn’t the first time. I’d gone through a similar round of pills and therapy for my shoulder a couple of years earlier. I was still taking the occasional pill when I hurt badly. Not often, maybe one every few weeks. I knew getting off the drugs would prove difficult the second time around; I just didn’t realize how much I’d come to depend on them. When I couldn’t get the doctors to write scrips for me anymore, I went to guys I knew from my time in Narcotics.” He shook his head.