Speak No Evil

SEVENTEEN

BECAUSE KILLERS OFTEN ATTEND or observe the memorial services of their victims, the chief gave Will and Carina additional resources to cover the event. It took them an hour to debrief the team and formulate a plan for Angie’s memorial service. Then they went upstairs to talk to Patrick.

Carina introduced Nick to her brother. “The Kincaid family seems to run San Diego,” Nick said with a smile.

“You haven’t even met half of them,” Carina said. “But Patrick’s my favorite.”

The young cop smirked. “She only says that when she wants something.” He rolled his chair across his small office and picked up a printout. “But maybe I really will be your favorite now. I got details on all three banned members. I printed out their MyJournal pages. No personal information-they didn’t use their real names. One has an e-mail address, and I ran it through the database and hit on a name and physical address.” He handed them another page. “Damon Bader lives in Detroit, Michigan.”

“What are the chances he came to San Diego to track down Angie and kill her?” Carina asked half-seriously.

“Next to none. I called the e-crimes unit and they did some preliminary work. The guy has a record, all misdemeanors, and works as a sanitation engineer. Twice divorced, two kids, and he’s fifty-six.”

Didn’t fit the profile, but they had to cover their bases. “We should check the airlines just in case he’s been out here recently,” Carina said. “And talk to his employer about any recent time off.”

“Consider it done,” Patrick said.

“The other two?”

“The first has the screen name ‘Bondage,’ and I read some of his comments on other pages. Probably the world’s biggest liar, but he claims to have done some wild stuff. If he’s for real, he’s a major contender for us. The other screen name is ‘Scout.’ Again, checked him out. Some heavy stuff, but nothing that popped as threatening. Both were banned on the eighteenth by Angie.”

“This is great,” Carina said, “but can’t we find out where they live?”

Patrick shook his head. “MyJournal is a free site. There’s no verification process. Just create a login and password and you have a profile page. Bondage lists his hometown as USA, and Scout doesn’t list a hometown. The only way I can narrow them down is to trace their comments through the MyJournal server to a local Internet service provider. Then, with a warrant, we can get the payment information from the ISP and locate them that way. But the MyJournal attornies are sticklers about privacy law. I’ve already put a call in to their security chief. It’s going to take some time.”

E-crimes were exploding, and the police department was still catching up with the twenty-first century. When they thought they’d gotten a handle on the casework, another cyberscam hit and they were scrambling for more computer resources.

“The answer is here somewhere.” Carina flipped through the pages of printed material from the MyJournal site. “But we need a hundred people and a thousand hours to find it.”

“Welcome to my life,” Patrick said. “I have some other ideas I’m working on, but I’ll talk to you about them tonight.”

“Tonight?” Carina hit her forehead. “Lucy’s birthday party!”

“You have to be there,” Patrick said. “Or she’ll give you the cold shoulder for the rest of your life.”

“I’ll be there, but late. It’s Angie’s memorial service tonight.”

Patrick nodded solemnly. “I’ll cover for you. But I get your slice of cake.”

“Deal.”

They went back downstairs and while Will filled in the team covering the memorial service, Carina looked at Bondage’s page on her computer and Nick looked at Scout’s on Will’s.

“Bondage says he’s twenty-two,” she said as she investigated the site. “This is awful. I don’t believe in censorship, but I still don’t think this stuff should be allowed. Hey, look at this.”

Nick leaned over to see her screen. When his shoulder brushed hers, a jolt ran down her spine, leaving her with tingles and goose bumps. She licked her lips, then hoped Nick didn’t notice.

“What?” he asked, his voice low as he looked at the screen. “White nylon rope.”

On Bondage’s main page was a picture of a partially clothed woman bound by white nylon rope around her wrists and ankles. The woman didn’t look in distress; she was posed with her lips open and her tongue out, her face heavily made up.

The caption read: I love a woman who likes to be tied up.

“Same kind our killer used.”

“It’s common,” Nick said, “but it’s certainly damning. Any identifying information?”

Carina skimmed the personal profile. “Nothing about where he lives, what he does-wait. Here. ‘I work at a coffeehouse in a college town and the girls here are wild.’ ”

“Did Angie frequent any coffeehouse?”

“I don’t remember her friends talking about a specific place other than the Sand Shack. But I’ll ask them tonight at the memorial service.”

Nick said, “Steve’s neighbor Ava said something about how a lot of their friends hung out at the Starbucks near campus.”

“We’ll check it out. We might have time before the service tonight.”

Nick went back to his own screen and Carina felt distinctly colder with him several feet away. She glanced at his broad back, the muscles defined under his white polo shirt. He wore jeans, and wore them very well.

Her heart was beating too fast and she swallowed, turned back to her computer. It took her a moment to focus, all her senses attuned to Nick Thomas and his hot body, his low drawl, his piercing blue eyes.

Get over it, Kincaid. He’s a cop. You don’t date cops.

But he lives in Montana. He’s going home. You know you want to see how he kisses.

Stop it! You don’t do things like that. No one-night stands, remember?

But he’s special.

Was he? Carina wondered as she debated silently with herself. She snuck another quick glance at him. Yeah, there was definitely something about Nick that had all her female hormones working overtime.

“Look at this.” Nick scooted his chair to the side so she could bring hers over.

She read what was on the screen. “What?”

“This is old. He set it up nearly two years ago, but there’s only this one post.”

“So what does that mean?”

“I don’t know. He obviously comments on other people’s pages, but he doesn’t draw people to his page.”

Heads together, they read the sole post on Scout’s MyJournal page.

Hello. I’m Scout. Why? Because I’m always looking around, you know, scouting things out. Ha.

I just got my own computer and the first thing I did was set up this MyJournal account. Everyone talks about what a great place this is and I’ve already visited a lot of the people here and they’re great.

About me? There’s really not much to tell. My life is actually boring. Not much of a life, really. But I’m going to change that. My dad always told me if I wanted to make my mark on the world, I needed to be in control and not take shit from anyone. I know I’m destined to do great things. Everyone will know my name. I won’t be a nobody forever.

“He sounds young,” Nick said thoughtfully.

“Too young. Like he’s in high school.”

“He posted this two years ago. He may be in college now.”

“Unfortunately, we can’t do anything with this information,” Carina said, discouraged. “I’d really hoped I’d see something like, ‘I killed a woman last weekend and dumped her body on the beach.’ ”

“Too neat.”

“You’re telling me.” She paused. “How long did it take you to catch the Bozeman Butcher?”

Nick tensed and she wished she hadn’t asked. “He killed twenty-two women in thirteen years. I was sheriff for the last three years of his reign. Under my watch, four women died.”

“But you caught him.”

“I didn’t have much to do with his capture,” he said cryptically.

“But-”

Will approached, interrupting the conversation. “Okay, I have eight guys in place as we discussed earlier, and two more checking everyone’s names and ID when they enter. We’ll have a list. Might not do us any good, but I’ll never forget the Fremont case.”

“What was that?” Nick asked.

“A year ago,” Carina said, “a nurse was killed in the parking lot of the hospital. We caught the case-my first as detective-staked out the memorial service, which was in the hospital chapel. The killer was cocky enough to use a stolen hospital ID and sit right up in front. We had a team of men in the next room verifying every ID and we found him, arrested him as he left.”

“Very neat and tidy.”

“Wish this case was,” Will said. He glanced at his watch. “We need to talk to the chief.”

“I’ll meet you outside,” Nick said.

“Actually, we need you to be there,” Carina said. “Will talked to Chief Causey earlier today and he wants to meet you and get a copy of your credentials.”

“Sure,” Nick said, sounding cautious. “Is there a problem?”

“No, but since the press has started making calls, Causey wants to make sure all is are dotted and ts crossed. I’m also making another push for a task force, using Dillon’s informal profile to back it up.”

“Because he’s going to kill again.”

“Seems likely. But maybe if we get the manpower we need we can stop him before he becomes the textbook definition of a serial killer.”

Soundlessly, she cried as he washed her body.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you like that,” he told Becca as he washed the streaks of blood from between her legs. The water was tepid, neither hot nor cold, but her body trembled, making the water ripple.

He stroked her hair, kissed her cheek, ran a hand over her breasts. Scrubbed her body with a rag and soap, lots of soap. Rinsed her well.

“You were very good. Not like the whore. You were sweet and fresh and new. All for me.” When he’d penetrated her the first time he’d realized she was a virgin. He’d come instantly, the knowledge that he’d be the first and the last man to have her providing such intense excitement he didn’t want to hold back.

She strained against the gag. “Don’t do that. You’ll make it hurt more. You can’t tell anyone what happened.”

She shook her head back and forth, her eyes wide. She tried to say something, guttural sounds rumbling in her throat. He didn’t understand her, but he didn’t have to. She’d just lie to him. All women, even beautiful virgins like Becca, lie. She’d say she wouldn’t tell, but the first thing she would do is go to the police and tell them who he was.

Obviously, he couldn’t allow that to happen.

He washed her hair and poured water over her head. She breathed heavily, tears running from her eyes.

“I’m sorry, it has to be done.” He motioned for her to get up. “Walk back to the bed,” he told her.

Her entire body shook, water dripping off her to the floor. He walked behind her with a towel, one he bought just for her. Brand-new, never been used.

Suddenly, she ran for the door.

“No!” He took three long strides, but she had the door open and ran down the hall.

He was faster. He caught her before she even touched the front door.

He threw her body down on the floor. Her head hit the coffee table and he saw blood on her scalp. He’d have to clean the table later.

She struggled as he picked her up and she scratched his neck. He held her tight, brought her back to his bed. She fought and cried as he tied her up, her hands above her head and her feet to the posts at the end of the bed.

His breathing was rapid, his face flushed with the exertion. And, if he thought about it, the excitement of chasing her. He’d been scared, very scared, for a minute, but he couldn’t ignore the rush when he caught her, subdued her, brought her back to his bed, and tied her up.

He looked at the hand that had scratched him. He couldn’t see anything under her nails, she had barely even broken his skin, but that didn’t mean something wasn’t there. He had to be careful. He took a sharp knife and cleaned under her fingernails. She bled. He then held her hand in a bowl of bleach. A guttural scream reverberated in her chest and he watched her vocal cords and the small, thin bones strain against her neck.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her, but she had tried to escape.

He took the time to flush the bloody bleach down the toilet and carefully wash the bowl.

Then he returned to Becca, plastic wrap in hand.

He started at her feet. Slowly, carefully, wrapping Becca’s body.

First one leg. Then the other. Her butt, everything but her vagina. Her waist. Around and around. Her breasts. Then each arm. And to be safe, he wrapped her again.

His entire body quivered with excitement.

He looked in her eyes and saw fear.

“Good night, Becca.”

He rolled on a condom and pushed himself into her with one stroke. Her body jerked beneath him. He brought the plastic heavy-duty garbage bag from his nightstand, pulled it over her head, and tied it around her neck.

Then he laid on top of her as her body convulsed beneath him.

This time, he was done when she was.