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“He didn’t strangle you right away?” Macy asked.
“No. It was like he was figuring out how to do it. But he finally did. Only when I was gasping for air did he get off me. He said he was sorry.”
Reliving the event, even after fifteen years, was upsetting Susan. Macy wasn’t a patient person by nature unless she was speaking to women who’d been traumatized. In cases like this, she was willing to wait until hell froze over if necessary.
Finally, Susan shook her head. “When I remember that night, there’s a lot that really pisses me off, but I think his apology tops the list. Why the hell would he tell me that he’s sorry?”
Macy pulled the shade back down. “There could be any number of reasons. You’re the first known case we have for this offender.”
“Why do you think I’m one of his firsts?”
“He didn’t bring restraints. The way he adjusted his hands on your neck. The apology. All these fit the profile of a person trying something new.”
“But why was he sorry?” Susan asked.
“Perhaps the violence was also a shock to him as well. He might have fantasized about it, but he’d never tried it. Maybe he truly did feel remorse.”
“Did he say he was sorry to any of the others?” Susan asked.
Macy felt Nevada’s close scrutiny. He wasn’t speaking but he had not missed one word. “None of the victims after you reported that he apologized.”
Susan flexed her fingers. “Why is the FBI involved now? It’s been fifteen years.”
“You can thank Sheriff Nevada,” Macy said. “He’s pulling out all the stops to solve this case.”
Behind the anger darkening Susan’s searching gaze, hope flickered. “I’d love it if you could catch him. I want him to feel the anger, fear, and hopelessness he dumped onto me.”
Macy wanted him to spend the rest of his life behind bars. “You’ve been a big help.”
“Sure. You come back any time.”
“One last question. Did he ever contact you afterward?”
“You mean like a call or something?”
“Yes.”
“No, I don’t remember any contact.”
“Good.”
“Should I be worried about him doing something like that?”
“No. I’m glad you have Zeus and have remained strong.”
Susan led them out of the room and closed the door behind her before moving to the front door. “I should have thought to offer you a soda or water.”
“It’s not necessary,” Macy said.
Susan glanced back toward her old bedroom. “It’ll be nice to sleep again one day, knowing he can’t come back.”
“I want to give you a heads-up,” Nevada said. “I’m going on television in the next day or two and sharing what I know about this criminal. I’m asking the community to call me if they have any leads.”
“There could be even more than four victims?” Susan’s expression crimped with worry.
“Yes.”
“You know how hard it is to talk to the cops about a rape,” Macy said. “But not everyone is able. You’re making a difference.”
“I’m not brave,” Susan said. “It’s been fifteen years, and I can’t even sleep in my own room.”
A rape rarely lasted beyond the event for a rapist. But for his victim, the trauma could linger for a lifetime. “If you do receive any strange communication after that press conference, listen but do not engage. And call me right away.”
“Sure.”
Macy took the woman’s hand in her own and squeezed it. A year ago, she’d have avoided physical contact but now felt the need to reassure this woman with more than words. “Don’t sell yourself short. You’re strong, and it’ll take women like you to catch this guy.”
Susan held her hand like she was clinging to a life raft. “Could he come back here?”
Macy wouldn’t lie to her. Serial offenders were impossible to predict. She knew the guy wasn’t in prison, which meant he was dead, too sick to act, or still active. “Anything is possible.”
Susan slowly let go of Macy’s fingers and drew back. “If he gets past Zeus, I’ll be waiting with my cell phone and baseball bat.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Macy said.
As they were leaving, she noticed a high school diploma mounted in a thin black frame from a box store. She’d graduated from Valley High School in 2004. “Did you know Tobi Turner?”
“Not well. But I felt horrible when she vanished. She was just found, I hear.”
“Yes.”
“Is what happened to her related to me?” Susan asked.
“We’re still looking into that,” Macy said. “Did you know Cindy Shaw?”
“Everyone knew her. She was wild. I heard she ran away. Why?”
“Just piecing together that year.”
Susan opened the front door. “Call me with updates.”
“I promise. We’re going to look around outside.”
“Sure.”
When Nevada and Macy stepped outside, the door had barely closed before the inside locks clicked back into place. Down the steps, she walked around the side of the house to the window of Susan’s old bedroom.
“He could have parked down the street,” Nevada said. “The night she was attacked was a nearly moonless one. If he were wearing black, he’d have been impossible to see. She’s about the same age as Ellis, and she lived with my aunt in a one-story house on a country road very similar to this.”
“He didn’t pick these women at random,” she said. “He chose them because they were vulnerable.”
The knit mask scratched against his face as he walked into his special room. He’d always worn the mask, first as a precaution but now because he knew it amped up the fear factor. He flipped on the lights.
She lay curled in a ball, and for a moment he thought he might have killed her. Strangling her unconscious had been the most effective way to get her quietly into the trunk of her car.
From there, he had driven two miles before he had reached his car. When he had opened the trunk, she had been rousing, but a syringe loaded with sedatives had knocked her out cold.
Transferring her to his car had been easy enough. Then all it had taken was a hard shove to send her car down into a ravine.
“I’m glad we’re going to have this time,” he said. “With you I can be myself. And it feels so good to be who I really am.” At the sound of his voice, she stirred slightly.
Time to play.
After locking the door behind him, he crossed the basement room and knelt beside her. To his relief, her breathing was faint, and when he touched her arm, she moaned softly. He rolled her on her back and jostled her shoulders until her eyes opened. Her expression quickly turned to fear. Good, she was coming around. No fun if she slept through most of his work.
She scrambled out from under him and pressed her back against the wall. “Please.”
He was satisfied with his taste in women. He could really pick them. “Please? Please, what?”
“Let me go,” she whispered. “I won’t tell.”
They all made meaningless promises of silence, loyalty, or acquiescence. How many women had begged him for their life and freedom? Their pleas invigorated him and made him feel strong.
Suddenly, he was impatient with the tired script played out so many times. He grabbed a handful of her dark hair and yanked her forward so that her face was inches from his.
Her breath caught, and her pulse thumped in her throat as tears rolled down her cheeks. The fear burning in her gaze offered him some hope that this could still be rewarding.
His erection throbbed, and a sharp rush of adrenaline cut through his body in the most exciting way. “I shouldn’t have waited so long to do this again. I forgot how much we both will love it.”
“Don’t hurt me.” Her eyes were wide and watery as the hoarse whisper crept over her lips.
He shoved her hard against the floor and was on top of h
er before she could scamper away. He wrapped his gloved hands around her slender white neck. She tried to pry his grip free, but she was no match.
He slowly squeezed. “It takes sixty seconds to strangle someone to death. It’s all I can do not to climax. One, two, three.”
“No,” she gasped as he kept counting.
“Eight, nine, ten. We’re almost there, sweetheart.”
CHAPTER TEN
Monday, November 18, 7:00 p.m.
