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“Tina, did the campus police say when they’d be getting back to you?” she asked.
“In a day or two.” Tina rubbed her sore shoulder anxiously. “I’m sure the college is trying to spin this so that panic won’t erupt, in spite of the media coverage. After all, this
was an atypical, isolated incident. It’s not like TCNJ has a high crime rate. So the school’s probably urging the police to take a responsible but low-key approach. Not that it’s done any good. The story’s in all the papers. It’s spread across the campus like wildfire. All the girls are freaking out, just knowing this guy’s out there somewhere. I don’t blame them; he’s clearly a wack job.” A hint of a smile. “Although I think I put him out of commission for a while.”
“No doubt he’s got some serious wounds to deal with,” Sloane agreed.
As satisfying as that knowledge was, it wasn’t comforting. Tina had kicked this guy’s ass. Wherever he was holed up, nursing his wounds, it had to be close by. He was badly hurt, and ripping mad. None of which bode well for what came next.
“The police were trying to figure out if there was a motive specific to me,” Tina was saying, “but I think I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Forget ransom; I can barely pay my tuition. My only assets are my poker winnings, which are just enough to buy my fighting gear. And, to my knowledge, I don’t have any enemies, certainly not psychotic ones.”
“Of course not.” Sloane’s wheels were still turning—fast. She had to choose her words cautiously, approach this in a way that wouldn’t frighten Tina. The poor girl had been through enough. But the truth was, potential victims weren’t the only ones Sloane was concerned about. She was worried about Tina. If the attack on her and the attack on Cynthia Alexander were related, then they might be dealing with a serial rapist or a serial killer. And that changed everything.
Not only would the manhunt become bigger and more widespread, but if Tina was the first girl to have gotten away from this psycho, and to physically overpower and humiliate him in the process, there was a good chance his rage would compel him to return and do God knows what to her.
Sloane wasn’t going to let that happen. She’d pull whatever strings she had to. But Tina would have police protection.
Speaking of police, Sloane would call Bob Erwin the minute she finished teaching tonight’s Krav class. The College of New Jersey Police Department wouldn’t have reason to make the connection to the John Jay kidnapping. But Bob would, once Sloane filled him in. He needed to know everything about Tina’s assault. Her ordeal, and whatever details of it she could recall, could be the break he’d been looking for to solve Cynthia’s case.
He’d need to interview Tina.
“Tina,” Sloane continued, setting the stage. “You know I have quite a few contacts in law enforcement. I want to run this incident by them, just to get their take on it. Obviously, I’ll keep the campus police in the loop. But the more professional views we elicit, the better chance we have of catching this guy before anyone else gets hurt.”
“That makes sense.”
“My NYPD contacts will want to ask you a couple of questions, just to expedite nailing this guy. Would that be all right?”
Tina’s eyes narrowed. “NYPD? This isn’t just about what happened to me, is it? It’s about that girl who was kidnapped at John Jay College. I read about her in the newspaper. Is there a pattern between what happened to her and what happened—or almost happened—to me?”
“There are some definite similarities,” Sloane replied candidly. “Except that the other girl, Cynthia Alexander, is still missing. Sergeant Erwin of Midtown North is working round the clock to find her.”
“Then call him. Tell him I’ll talk to him right away. If anything I say can help him find her, I’ll take him through my assault step-by-step.”
Sloane gave Tina a grateful smile. “Thanks. I will.”
As it turned out, Sloane didn’t call Sergeant Erwin—at least not the minute she stepped out of class the way she’d planned.
When she left the martial-arts academy and flipped on her cell phone, she found two terse, urgent messages from Derek.
“What’s up?” she asked the minute he answered his phone.
“You tell me. An hour ago I got a call about one of your stalker’s disposable cell phones.”
“He used it?” Sloane stopped in her tracks, car key in her hand. “Where was he calling from?”
“The College of New Jersey. And he wasn’t the one at the other end of the phone. The campus police were. Seems they just found the phone in a cluster of trees near Lake Ceva, where one of their students was attacked yesterday. Tina Carroll. But something tells me you know more about that than I do.”
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
DATE: 7 April
TIME: 0130 hours
The demons have been howling all night.
I can’t hear or think above their tirade. My head is about to explode. They’ve crept inside it. They’re relentless. Pounding away like a jackhammer. Coupled with my other injuries, the agony is unbearable.
