Silver Falls - Anne Stuart [35]
David shook his head, stepping back into his car. “Too late, big brother. Years too late. Come to dinner. I don’t think Sophie will be there—my wife doesn’t trust you around her. Which is silly—you never liked the young, innocent ones.” There was a pause. “I do.”
He gave his brother an angelic smile. “We’ll see you about seven.” And he pulled out into the road, heading off at his usual, decorous pace.
Caleb stood motionless, watching his brother drive away. When he realized belatedly that his hand was clenched in a fist, and he consciously relaxed it, taking a deep, calming breath. He’d waited too long, turned his back on the truth for too many years. There was blood on his hands, blood on his conscience.
Because he’d left.
But that time was past. He’d meant it—no one else was going to be hurt. No one. The only kind of penance he could pay was to keep it from happening again.
And he would. No matter how bloody the price.
David Middleton whistled a tuneless little song beneath his breath as he drove back into town, a feeling of well-being coursing through his body. He’d felt much better since he’d given up eating meat—a body free from animal pollutants was much more attuned to the dark beauty of life.
He glanced in his rearview mirror. Caleb was still standing there, and David knew he should feel sorrow and regret. Caleb so wanted to help.
But Caleb didn’t understand that his baby brother didn’t need help. He wasn’t delusional, or even terribly dangerous. He did what he had to do, what gave him pleasure, and he was very, very careful. He never hurt them if he could help it—fast and efficient was his code and his pride.
Caleb wouldn’t understand his fascination. Nor would he appreciate that he never had sex with them until they were already dead. He considered it quite kind of him—he’d studied enough to know that the most exquisite pleasure would be at the point of death, not afterward. But he spared them that. Just a few moments of blind panic, and then it was over for them. And then he could enjoy himself.
He always came at them from the back. He’d tried it once, strangling her while he was facing her, and it had been quite unsettling. So much so, that he hadn’t been able to have sex. In the end, though, that had been a blessing. No one connected that death with the other victims of the serial killer who preyed on young women.
The one thing that bothered him was that they hadn’t come up with a proper name for him. The Green River Killer, the Hillside Strangler, the Zodiac Killer. All of those had a certain ring to them.
Then again, Ted Bundy had never had any particular name, and he was the best of the best. And despite the commonly held belief that Bundy was brilliant, in fact, his IQ was a pathetic 124. If a man of middling intelligence could get away with his hobby for such a long time then David, with his own far more impressive 140, should have no trouble at all.
He whistled as he drove through the soft mist, watching it swirl across the rain-dark road like a woman’s long flow of hair. His older brother thought he’d made a mistake, but he’d always known exactly what he was doing. Even his recent overeagerness, his increased appetites, all played into a master plan. It was always foolish to underestimate him. They all had over the years. It worked to his advantage so well that it no longer offended him. Things were unfolding just as he had ordained, and by the time Caleb realized he’d been set up it would be too late.
He switched on the radio. The college station was playing the Mozart requiem, presumably in honor of the latest victim, a decomposed body found floating downstream from the falls. He whistled along as he drove, at peace with the world.
The sound of the police siren broke through Rachel’s panic, and she took her foot off the gas pedal, slowing to a guilty stop, cursing beneath her breath. All she could think about was