“I sure hope not.” Kane turned onto the highway. “Maybe we should call Jo? Having a behavioral analyst to consult would be an advantage. She might have heard about a similar case.”
Jenna rubbed her temples. Her feet hurt as they warmed and her head throbbed from dehydration and hunger. “I will, if the killer shows himself again but we have handled worse cases than this one.” She glanced at him. “Unless you need her help to profile this guy?”
“I figure, we need all the help we can get, Jenna.” Kane shrugged and looked back at the road.
She liked Special Agent Jo Wells, formally Blake. Recently divorced, Jo had reverted to her maiden name. Jo had set up an FBI CSI field office in Snakeskin Gully, some three hours’ drive from Black Rock Falls. After Wolfe had contacted her, she’d assisted Jenna with a recent case, along with detective, Agent Ty Carter. She’d gotten along with Jo and considered her a friend but didn’t want to run to her with every problem she encountered. After all, she had Kane. His profiling skills hadn’t let her down yet and it surprised her he’d mention calling Jo. It wasn’t like him to be uncertain about a case. “Is there something about this killer that’s worrying you?”
“Nope.” Kane flicked her a glance. “It’s that we have an FBI contact who would be sifting through bulletins daily and might have come across a similar case, is all. With no one apparently missing, we have zip to go on.” He turned onto Stanton. “I can offer you a small insight into this type of behavior but without evidence it’s difficult to profile.”
Jenna nodded. “We have had no clues before and still caught the killer.” She looked at the familiar buildings as they reached the outskirts of town. People milled around, clearing snow from their driveways. Woodsmoke curled upward from some of the houses adding to the picturesque scene. “Will you stop at Aunt Betty’s Café please? The last thing I want to do when I get home is cook.”
“I was going to go pick up the horses.” Kane looked in her direction. “It’s only a short detour.”
Jenna huffed out a sigh. “That’s not a good idea, Dave. We’re both famished and cold but if you insist, we’ll drop by on the way home from the office tomorrow.” She glanced at him. “It really isn’t a priority, is it? We’re paid up until the end of the week and the horses are in a heated stable. We on the other hand have been working in subzero temperatures for hours and late into the night, we don’t need to be getting up at five in the morning to feed the horses.”
“Okay.” Kane flicked her a worried glance. “I’m happy to leave them another day or so, it will give us more time to concentrate on the case.” He pulled up a short distance from Aunt Betty’s Café. “I’m ordering two stacks of pancakes. I need the carbs.”
“If I survive the walk to the café, I’ll do the same.” Jenna wrapped her scarf around her face and pulled up the hood of her jacket.
The blast of icy wind cut through her clothes; the temperature had dropped so fast this year, her body hadn’t had time to acclimatize. She slipped and slid along the sidewalk, frowning. The cleared path had a coating of ice but as they got closer to Aunt Betty’s she noticed someone had sprinkled a liberal amount of salt and sand on the sidewalk. She turned to Kane. “I know murderers kill at any time but why would anyone come out willingly in this weather to decorate a tree with body parts?”
“This is one of the reasons I wanted to talk to Jo.” Kane pushed open the door to the café and went inside. “She might have some insight into this kind of mind.”
Jenna followed him to their reserved table at the back of the store. She sat down and looked at him with curiosity. “I trust your judgment, Dave, but if you want to speak to her, that’s fine. It just seems a bit early into the investigation to be calling in the Feds.”
“They won’t be traveling here unless the weather breaks.” Kane waved a hand toward the window. “I doubt Carter will risk taking the chopper out unless there is a break in the weather. I’m thinking maybe a conference call?”
“Sure, and I’ll put out a carefully worded press release. Someone might recognize the tattoos?” Jenna moved the sugar bowl around on the table, thinking. “This crime is so unusual, I’d say if this guy has been working all over, they would’ve heard something although I don’t recall anything in the news.” A shudder of revulsion went through her. “Unless the bodies were never found. If the killer displayed them in remote areas, by the melt the wildlife could’ve cleaned up the evidence.”
Ten
Restless, Preacher prowled his house. He moved from room to room hoping his heavy footsteps would be frightening Delores, or Ava as she wanted him to call her. She’d tried to hide behind a false name but he’d recognized her. She always played the same card by arriving in town homeless and hungry but the moment he’d gotten close, he’d seen through her disguises—seen the tattoos peeking out from the sleeve at her wrist. Although, no matter how many times he killed her, she came back and multiplied. Lately, Delores seemed to be everywhere. He had to collect them all—kill them all.
He’d locked her in the cellar, and hoped to make her compliant in the pitch black, but to his surprise she hadn’t reacted as usual, screaming and hammering on the door. No, she’d remained on her bed as if waiting for him to make the next move. He liked that about her, it was as if she was learning to behave. He could use her new attitude to his advantage and if he found others, he’d add them to his cellar. She would explain how he expected them to behave.
There was everything she needed in the cellar: a bathroom, four beds, and a table and chairs. The latter he’d attached to the floor. In fact, he’d secured anything Delores could use as a weapon against him. She’d acted violently toward him last time and he’d broken her, spoiling the finish on his artwork. He wouldn’t go into the cellar again if she was awake. Instead, he had fitted speakers inside, to allow her to communicate with him when he chose. He supplied Delores with food and clean clothing daily via a dumbwaiter he ran from his kitchen.
He sat down before a bank of screens and watched her. His infrared cameras made sure he had her in full view, day or night. He liked to watch. He’d created his own private reality show and what he decided to do with Delores each day changed the outcome. Sometimes he’d feed her, sometimes not, sometimes he’d deprive her of light. He decided everything right down to her last breath. He would wait until her emotions changed from anger to despair, lift the dumbwaiter, and wait. She’d always try to escape and after climbing through the walls would find his special room. All he had to do was, watch and wait. By the time she came to him—and she always came to him, she’d beg for forgiveness and he’d ignore her pleas and kill her slowly.
He checked the time and excitement clenched his gut. He flicked on the TV to catch the news. Anger rolled over him in waves when the lead story didn’t mention the cops had discovered his artwork in the forest. They’d found it, he’d seen them recoil in horror, but instead of showing the world, they’d kept the find to themselves. After the station break, he stared at the screen, waiting with growing anger. The newsreader looked at the camera and spoke, as if to him alone.