The Hunted Girls

by Jenna Kernan

  “I’m terrified that I’m not even capable of real intimacy or personal connections. I’m desperately afraid that my mother’s influence has crippled me, prevented any true feelings of empathy.”

  Words were tumbling, one on another, rolling and sliding like a car on loose gravel.

  “What if I have it? The killer code, that gene sequence correlated to extreme violence? What if I’m like her or if I could become like her? What if I’m like my great-grandfather who killed a guy in a bar fight? My grandfather who ran over his boss with a forklift and broke his neck. My brother—”

  He gave her hands a little tug.

  “None of them are you. And I hate to break it to you, but you’ve already formed interpersonal connections with Juliette and Tina and me. You are fully capable of relationships. You are fully capable of loving me. And you have empathy, too much empathy. It’s why you are so good at this job. You empathize with everyone: the victims, the victims’ families, the law enforcement professionals and the killer. You understand their minds in a way that is unique.”

  “Because I’m like them.”

  “I don’t think that’s why.”

  “We’ll find out when I get that blood work.”

  “That stupid blood test? That’s just an indicator of a higher percentage of violent behavior. Your violent behavior is what saved my life when the Copycat Killer attacked me. It was appropriate violence, necessary violence. You can do this, Nadine, the profiling, us, all of it. I believe in you.”

  She wanted to fall into his arms and hug him. She wanted to leave the conversation there, but she owed him the entire explanation. So she drew a long breath and blew it away, trying to verbalize her deepest dread in a quiet trembling voice.

  “It’s not just about me. I’m not just afraid of what I might do. I’m afraid of…” She’d nearly said it aloud but checked herself, editing her words. She had been about to say that she was afraid of what their kids might do, of what they might become because of the mix of poison her genes would inject into their being. Instead she edited, saying, “I’d be a terrible mother.”

  He released her hands and drew back. His brow furrowed and he looked stunned.

  “That’s a little fatalistic. Isn’t it?”

  “Is it?”

  “I had no idea that’s how you felt.” He shifted his position, inching away from her.

  “Isn’t that where you want to take this?”

  “Yes, but I think you’d be a terrific mom. But if you don’t want kids, we can… we’ll talk about it. We can…”

  He couldn’t think of a future for them that did not include children. And it was all clear to her. Clint did want all the things that scared her most profoundly. A wife, a family.

  He was pacing now, like a trapped animal.

  He stopped and looked at her with such a pained expression. It was finally hitting him that she might not be the one, and that killed her. She wanted to be the one. She wanted to share her life with this man. But her unwillingness to bear his children could be a deal breaker, even if she kept the real reasons for that choice hidden. It had, at least, temporarily stunned him speechless.

  She had thought that it was unfair of her to keep him when she couldn’t be all he wanted. But now she feared he might be thinking along the same lines. He might be preparing to end this right now.

  So she did what she always did. She stalled.

  “Clint, you need to give me some space to get this investigation going. I have to stop this killer and I need all my defenses up.”

  And this time, he seemed glad to agree. Happy to put their relationship on pause while he processed all she had told him and then, let her go.

  Nadine reached out her hand and he took it, allowing her to draw him back to bed.

  She couldn’t help the thought that this might be the last time.

  Sixteen

  SATURDAY

  She and Demko met in the lobby, after they’d ended up sleeping in their separate rooms, and drove the route along the trail Linda would have taken from the hotel, just after sunup the day she was first captured. He was unusually quiet. She felt herself losing him. Up until now she had been holding him at arm’s length. Now he seemed ready to let go.

  With their personal life in tatters, she turned to the case, studying the data provided by the FBI, as he drove. She now knew, thanks to digital forensics, and Tolan agreeing to let them access her phone while in the hospital, that all three victims had entered GPS coordinates. “Only Karnowski was accompanied. Darnell and Tolan plugged in coordinates and Karnowski did the same using her boyfriend’s onboard nav system.”

  She had already seen the body dump for Karnowski and Darnell. Now she wanted to see the trail where Linda Tolan had been taken.

  Nadine glanced down at her screen. “Tolan entered the GPS location at four fifty-five a.m.” She returned her attention to Demko. “What’s your take on where they were each headed?”

  He grimaced. “Would be helpful to see the direct messages and alerts.”

  “Should have them soon.”

  “The most likely scenario is a drug deal or meeting someone for sex. Especially at that time.”

  “I’ll look for that sort of app on the data sheet. But these are remote locations for either of those. Also, no one likes to get naked in these woods. The bugs are too vicious.”

  “That’s why they invented backseats and air-conditioning.”

  She recalled missing an illicit affair in her last profile because the two meeting for sex were divorced and she hadn’t considered that they were still sleeping together.

  “I suppose this is somewhat of a halfway point between the east and west coasts. The parking area gives a natural place to meet.”

  “Exchange of goods. Something they bought online?” suggested Demko.

  She’d have to check for sites like craigslist and eBay. The FBI could do that for her.

  “A woman would have to be crazy to come all the way out here to do such a thing alone. Stupid dangerous. None of these women were stupid.”

  But all of them were still dead. She feared that also included Tolan.

  They followed Tolan’s route to the trailhead for the Yearling.

  Nadine stared at the gap in the split-rail fence and the hollow in the undergrowth marking the path.

  “Do you think this is named for the book?” she asked, staring up at the wooden sign that marked the start of a five-mile loop.

  “What book?”

  “The Yearling by Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings?”

  Demko shook his head. “No clue.”

  He collected two water bottles from the cooler in the rear section and shoved one in the back pocket on each side of his khakis.

  “You haven’t read it?”

  “No. You have?”

  “Yes, of course. It’s about a young boy who nurses a fawn. Mandatory reading in school.”

  She paused to stare across the lot and onto the sandy patch that disappeared through the pines and live oaks.

  Together they exited the vehicle and walked toward the trail.

  “The FBI has already been all over her route,” he said.

  “I know. I just want to get a feel for the place. GPS coordinates can only take me so far.” She paused at sighting the yellow crime scene tape strung across the trail, surprised at this reminder of the initial abduction.

  “Haven’t they cleared the scene yet?” she asked.

  “I would have thought so.”

  “They should have, because they didn’t find anything.”

  He snorted. “But since Skogen has decided to withhold evidence, it’s impossible to say.”

  “Thank you for defending me.”

  She squared her shoulders, preparing to follow Linda Tolan’s route.

  He laced his fingers with hers. Together they ducked under the yellow tape and walked into the forest.

  “You tell me when you’d like to turn around,” he said.

  She nodded as th
ey strolled side by side in the dappled sunlight. The temperature beneath the canopy of trees was a good ten degrees cooler than out in the sunshine. There was a dampness to the ground and the musty smell of rotting things. It did not take long for the bugs to find them. Demko offered her the spray.

  “How would this look at five-thirty in the morning?” she asked.

  “Predawn. Dark.”

  “Would she carry a flashlight?”

  “She might.”

  “That would make her easier to spot.” She scanned the treetops. “Early morning is the best time to spot animals, isn’t it?”

  “Birds, anyway.”

  “Summer tanager,” said Nadine.

  They continued on as she pictured Linda, carrying her photographic equipment. Holding a light, fiddling with the camera as she listened for the bird song, looking at the lacework of branches. What did that songbird sound like?

  Nadine heard many birds but could not tell one from another. Tolan could have.

  He nodded and then looked back on the trail, again. He had stopped more than once to scan behind them.

  The breeze picked up, blowing sand into her eyes. She knew the signs. They were in for a thunderstorm. The trees made it difficult to see the sky, hard to know where the clouds were building into thunderheads, but the wind told her it came from the east.

  “Better turn back,” she said.

  On the return, Demko did not hold her hand and stayed slightly ahead of her.

  She was looking at the sky when Demko grasped her hand and drew her off the trail.

  “What’s—”

  He lifted a finger to his lips.

  She flattened against the tree trunk, suddenly terrified. Demko’s hand went to his pistol and he rocked the weapon from its holster, bringing it up before him. The gesture did not reassure.

  “Someone’s following us,” he said softly.

  “A hiker?” she suggested, clutching at the safest explanation.

  He shook his head. “Trail’s closed.”

  She listened but heard nothing.

  “He moved off the trail when we got near. Hiding over there.” He gestured with his chin.

  “You can’t shoot someone for hiding.”

  He snorted. “We’ll see.”

  She tugged his sleeve, silently imploring him to stay.

  He glanced down at her. “Stay here.”

  In a moment he was gone, running in a semicircle across the trail and out of sight.

  The sharp bark of Demko’s voice made Nadine jump.

  “Police! Hands where I can see them. Now!”

  She heard a muffled reply but could make out nothing of what the person he was shouting at was saying.

  “On the ground. Hands out to the sides. Do it!”

  Nadine peeked out from behind the tree. From her vantage she could see Demko standing, gun held in two hands and pointed at the back of a man’s head. His target sprawled before him on the ground. There was something large and black in his right hand. It looked like the kind of automatic weapon she had seen during her FBI training.

  She crept forward and heard Demko instructing him to sit up.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  As she inched closer, she saw that the object beside the man was something more dangerous than an automatic weapon. It was a camera with a giant zoom lens.

  She’d looked into a lens like that before. Twice, actually. Once after her mother’s arrest and throughout her trial. The second time was a year and a half ago when the media discovered who she was and that she was profiling the copycat killer while sleeping with the lead detective, Demko. Sweat beaded on her upper lip. Her heart pounded in her throat.

  The man retrieved his wallet from his front pocket. The ball cap on his head and the lowered tilt of his chin kept her from seeing his face, but she did see the flaxen ponytail thrusting from the gap in the back of the hat. He wore tan and olive-green clothing that seemed designed to allow him to disappear into the landscape.

  Demko accepted the offered ID before beginning a string of profanities. He glanced in her direction holding the credential so she could see it read PRESS. Her stomach dropped.

  If this fellow knew who they were, it would certainly end up in the papers.

  “Why are you following us?” asked Demko.

  “FBI press release said that we have a serial killer stalking the hiking trails in the Ocala Forest.”

  “You thought I was the killer?” asked Demko.

  The man shifted uncomfortably in the leafy debris.

  “You’re a cop. I know a cop car when I see one. Figured you to have something to do with the case so… What’s your name, Officer?”

  “You tell me. You’re the reporter.”

  Nadine had reached the trail and was approaching the pair outside the line of sight of the seated man. Demko spotted her and gave a nearly imperceptible shake of his head; then he waved her off. She stood frozen for just a moment and then realized he was telling her to return down the trail alone. She gave her head a definitive shake. She was not going anywhere in this forest by herself.

  His lips pursed and he glared at her before returning his attention to the seated man, who was now looking over his shoulder at her.

  “Who’s your partner?” asked the reporter.

  Demko said nothing as Nadine moved off the trail and again out of sight.

  If he figured out who she was, her anonymity was blown. The media would set up their tarpaulins and the three-ring circus would commence. Nadine hated the spotlight. It made her sick to her stomach and reminded her of all of the terrible parts of her life. It took her right back to the courthouse in the three days she testified against her mother.

  She wiped the sweat from her lip.

  Nadine wanted many things in her life. Notoriety she had already, and hated it. She did not want to be some celebrity profiler with her own talk show. She wanted to be left alone with the luxury of an ordinary life.

  She saw the chances of that fading with the day’s sunlight.

  “If you’re arresting me, you have to give me your name,” said the reporter.

  She turned back just in time to see Demko looming over him. She hoped he wasn’t going to do anything that would get him fired. She opened her mouth to warn him, then realized she was about to say his name and closed it again.

  “Let me get out my phone so I can record this conversation.”

  Demko was staring at her now. He motioned her back toward the trailhead and this time she went.

  “Pull up the clock app.” That was Demko’s voice, a command, followed by a pause. “Start the timer.” Another pause. “You leave this spot before ten minutes and I will arrest you. Understand?”

  “On what charge?”

  “Trespass and obstructing a police officer. You crossed under the crime tape, buddy.”

  This was met with silence.

  “Ten minutes,” said Demko.

  A moment later, Demko emerged onto the trail carrying both the man’s wallet and his camera. He captured her elbow, bustling her along.

  From behind them came the shout from the trespasser.

  “You can’t take those!”

  She glanced back over her shoulder to see the man standing in the underbrush clutching his phone.

  “He’s right,” she said, referring to the reporter’s equipment.

  Demko paused to check the camera and removed the flash card.

  “Hey! That’s my property. I’m reporting this!”

  “I’d expect nothing less from a reporter,” Demko mumbled as he set the camera on the trail. He removed the press badge from the man’s wallet. Then he dropped the wallet beside the camera and turned to Nadine.

  “This is bad,” she said.

  “I’ll say. Thought we might have found him. Instead we get punked by some reporter.” He glanced at the identification. “Timothy Murphy. Orlando Star.”

  “It’s happening again.” She hoped the dizziness was from the heat
, but that didn’t explain the sharp pangs in her stomach or the dread collecting within her heart.

  Nadine had gained nothing to help find Linda Tolan from their outing, and despite the FBI and search and rescue’s efforts, Tolan remained missing and Nadine feared she was dead.

  Downhearted, she sat in the SUV as Demko drove, checking her messages, hoping for a miracle.

  She found an email from Arlo asking her to call him today between eleven and twelve, when he would be waiting by the prison’s communal phone banks. She glanced at the time, realizing it was already a few minutes after noon, but she placed the call.

  The phone rang once and then was answered by an unfamiliar male. She asked for her brother and then waited as the inmate answering, from the phone bank in the prison, handed the receiver to him.

  “Hey, Arlo. What’s up?”

  “I was afraid you didn’t get my email,” Arlo said.

  “Just read it. Sorry I’m late.”

  “It’s okay. Thanks for the red-tag information.”

  “Oh, you’re welcome.”

  “My attorney called that FBI guy you worked with.”

  “Torrin?”

  “Yeah. He was pretty hyped about it, I guess. Said that this might close a cold case. May just get me out of here.”

  It was what she had hoped and feared. Arlo on the outside. The unknown future. But she forced herself to tell him that his news was wonderful. Because she could think of little worse than knowing your sister did not have your back.

  “Is that why you wanted me to call?” It didn’t seem like reason enough. A thank you could wait for her regular visit.

  There was no answer.

  “Arlo?”

  “The Copycat Killer managed to get a message to me.”

  “How?”

  “Mailed from the Sarasota jail, I think.”

  Nadine’s skin itched.

  “Wants us to write to each other and asked about you, wanted your new address.”

  “Did you write back?” she asked.

  “You think I would? That asshole shot you.”

  She smiled at that. After all these years, Arlo still came to her rescue.

  “I just wanted you aware that this maniac is still… consumed by you. Thinking about you. Be careful.”