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“Please say he attacked someone. Please, God.”
“Not quite. Read this.” She spun her laptop around to show her partner.
Ripley leaned closer, read aloud. “Mr. Pierce was quietly let go from his position with The Maryland Department of Public Safety and Correctional Services due to severe conflicts of interest. Mr. Pierce was found to have struck up personal relations with a member of the establishment’s custodial population. He was promptly dismissed from his duties in the MDPSCS on….” Ripley stopped. “Dark, check the date. That was only six months ago.”
“Christ. He was sacked for making friends with inmates.”
Chuck Pierce, are you our killer? she asked herself. She didn’t know much about the man other than his name and address, but from a psychological point, there were obvious links. “This man must be feeling dejected. Recently fired. Maybe forced into retirement? Inspired by the serial killers he got close to, and now he wants to be one of them.”
“Do we have his address?”
“Yes we do. Saddlemoor. Not far from the scene where Eliza Matthews was found.”
Ripley suddenly transformed from a hobbling cripple into a blur of energy. This was why she was so banged up, Ella thought. She treated her injuries with adrenaline, and eventually all that wear and tear was going to take its toll – as it was right now.
“Why don’t you stay here? You need to rest.”
“No chance,” Ripley snapped. “I’m coming to bring this guy down. I need to look him in the eye while we throw him in the cells. I owe it to these victims.”
Ella knew that arguing would just be like fighting a losing battle. “Very well, but let me go in first. You be my first line of defense.”
She grabbed her things, ready to do battle with this mysterious stranger. He fit the psychological profile to a tee. He had the motive, he looked physically capable, he knew these roads, and he’d probably gleaned a lot of knowledge from the killers he befriended.
“You feeling good about this one, Dark?” asked Ripley. “I know I am. I can feel it in my gut.”
“I really am,” Ella said. She waited for the initial thrill to subside, trying to think rationally and calmly about what could lie ahead. It was time. Their destination was only a ten-minute drive away.
“Let’s get this son of a bitch.”
***
Ella sped through an old-style village, complete with thatched houses and cobblestone wells, down an endless country lane that seemed to stretch on into infinite darkness. She pulled up around fifty feet from Chuck’s home, certainly not one of the more lavish rural properties. Far from it. The town’s central lake glimmered in the distance, moonlight reflecting off its surface, but the area Chuck lived in would be considered the town’s slums. A row of detached houses, modest in size and neglected in quality. A handful of the homes appeared abandoned, judging by the overgrown weeds slowly reclaiming their exteriors. Chuck’s house was at the end of the row.
She approached the door, hand glued to her pistol. She still wasn’t certain if their unsub was extremely smart or completely deranged, but in a few seconds, she might just have her answer.
“I’ll stay back in case he runs,” Ripley said. This seemed to be their new approach going forward, although this could be the last time.
Ella nodded her approval then knocked on the door of the old house. She quickly checked the exit routes, and while there was a path out of the back garden through the distant fields, Ripley would have a good eye on that.
No answer.
She tried again.
Knock knock.
“Come on. Open up,” she prayed. She had a quick look through the front windows but only saw a front room steeped in darkness. No signs of life.
But then she heard shuffling.
Something on the other side of the door.
Ella gave Ripley the two-finger signal. The one that said action might be forthcoming.
A lock jangled and the door opened.
Not Chuck Pierce. A woman, confused and fearful.
“Yes?” she asked, her voice trembling.
