The 7th Victim - Alan Jacobson [29]
“Pretty damn clear,” Del Monaco said. “We have no reason to think it’s the same guy.”
Several other agents nodded their heads, and like grains of sand sliding through her fingers, she felt control slipping away.
“We had this debate a year or so ago, right?” Gifford asked. “Until we have convincing evidence to think otherwise, we need to put this to rest. It’s time to move on.”
Vail set the remote down and flipped her file folder shut. “That’s all I have.” She glanced over her shoulder at the image of a blood mural spilling over the screen’s edge, the indelible picture of Melanie Hoffman’s defaced torso embedded in her mind. She faced her colleagues, who were reclining in their seats, looking at her. “Thanks for all your input.”
She gathered her belongings and headed out the door.
ten
He had another burst of inspiration and found himself running to the keyboard. He sat pecking away at the keys, the words flying onto the document as if being spray painted onto the screen.
“Where the hell are you, you little runt? Come here and play with me!”
I cover my ears and close my eyes, even though it’s dark in here. So dark, I’m sometimes scared. But I’m safe. I can do anything I want in here, and he can’t stop me. I can stay here for hours and hours. He never wonders where I am unless he wants me. As long as I don’t answer him, he thinks I’m outside, hiding somewhere on the ranch. He knows he’d never find me until I’m ready to come home. All that land is good for hiding, too. I can sleep out with the stars, I can see them all at night, it’s so dark, so very dark.
But my place here is warm and secret. I’ve brought stuff in here with me, made it my home. Besides, I can watch him from here. I know where he is. As long as he doesn’t find me—
“Son of a bitch, where the fuck are you?”
I hear the back door open and slam shut. Looking for me. He wants me again.
I hate his smell, his dirty nails, his crooked teeth, and beer breath. I hate his yellow pee-stained underwear.
I hate him.
No more of this. No more pain.
No more—
He jumped up from his chair and stood in front of his desk, the laptop screen glowing, the cursor blinking, his face damp with cold sweat. So powerful. So vivid the memories, yet so far away, so very long ago. He had to find a vehicle for these thoughts, these memories. He thought on that for a moment but nothing useful came to him, not yet, at least. He wiped his face with a sleeve, then walked over to his workbench, where he folded a soft diaper into a precise square, then huffed a cloud of fog onto the brass badge and buffed it hard. Three times. Rub, rub, rub. The smudges wiped away, leaving behind the emblem of authority. Power.
He reinserted the badge into his credentials wallet and slipped the leather case into his suit coat pocket. He reviewed the surveillance pictures he’d taken of Sandra Franks, the woman who’d caught his attention a few days ago. Yes, she was an evil one all right. As he flipped through the photos, his jaw tightened. Definitely evil.
“This evening’s prize is a thirty-year-old dental hygienist originally from Tallahassee, Florida,” he announced with game-show-host vigor. “She skis in the winter, swims in the summer, and lifts weights year-round. A fine physical specimen. Dennis, tell her what she’s won.”
He chuckled and began swinging his legs beneath his chair. Three times forward, followed by a clicking of his heels. Click click click. Three times; that’s just the way it had to be.
He put the photos down, then slipped the pipe into the handmade holster on his belt.
“It’s time! We’re off to see the Wizard, the wonderful Wizard of Oz. The wizard of Oz! Ozzie, Ozzie and Harriet. Harriet, the original bitch. Bitch, bitch, that’s all she does. Bitch, bitch, I’ll get that bitch!”
He shrugged into his suit coat, smoothed down the lapels, then appraised his tie in the mirror. He straightened it, then tightened it. Patted down the faux mustache,