“Hello?” The woman’s voice sounded anything but steady.
“Tracy Donofrio?”
“Yes, this is Tracy?” The uneasiness in her tone was obvious.
“My name is Agent Lackland. I’m with the FBI. My partner and I would like to speak with you about your recent attack.”
A long silence followed. “I only caught a glimpse of his face,” she admitted.
Asher sat up straighter. “So, you did see the man who attacked you?”
An unsteady breath came through the phone. “I did. I’ll never forget him.”
Asher whipped toward Olivia. This was big. “I can’t imagine how frightening that must have been. If it’s okay with you, we can come over now. We’re half an hour out.”
“Sure. I haven’t been able to sleep since it happened, and I could use the company. Do you have my address?”
“We do. I’ll call you when we’re close.” Asher ended the call with a weighty sigh.
If they could connect the dots to the man who attacked Lizzy, they’d have the Van Gogh Killer. Olivia was sure of it. Hopefully before he went after another innocent woman.
Chapter Four
“We’re close,” Asher said and stared out the windshield. So far, all they knew about Tracy Donofrio was that she worked from home as a writer and she lived by herself.
“I’ll call her and let her know we’re close.” Asher dialed the number.
“Hello?” The woman’s tone came out loud and sharp. She was probably terrified the man could return at any time to finish the job.
“Tracy? It’s Agent Lackland. We spoke earlier.”
“Oh, Yes, Agent Lackland.” Her tone cleared with relief.
“We are turning onto your country road now. We’re five minutes out.” He and Olivia passed a few houses at the start of the county road and then nothing but darkness. There were no streetlights out here. It would make the perfect hunting grounds for Van Gogh.
“Thank you for letting me know,” Tracy told him. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
Asher ended the call. He didn’t like this setting at all. The killer knew where Tracy lived. With his unpredictable MO, it wouldn’t be a stretch for him to return to finish the job.
“We need to get her police protection. She’s alone out here.”
Olivia smiled over at him. “I was thinking the same thing. This road is creepy.”
The SUV’s headlights picked up a mailbox followed by a drive. Olivia turned onto the drive and followed it up to the house.
Asher climbed out and waited for Olivia before he headed up the steps and knocked. He held up his credentials to the peephole. “Tracy, it’s Agent Lackland.”
A tall blonde woman opened the door and stared at them, fear etched on her face. “This is my partner, Olivia Hamilton. May we come in?” Blonde hair. Not red. Not brunette. There was no making sense of the killer’s changing MO.
Tracy shook their hands. “Yes, of course.” She glanced past them to the empty street in front of the house and visibly shivered.
Asher followed the women inside and closed the door.
“Please, have a seat.” She waited until he and Olivia had claimed the sofa before she sat on an overstuffed chair near the woodstove. “I’ve made coffee,” Tracy said when the silence of the room lengthened. “I haven’t slept well since. . .”
Asher peered at Olivia before both shook their heads. “No thanks, we’ve both had way too much caffeine already.”
Tracy smiled. “Me, too.” She pulled in a breath as if readying herself for their questions.
“I just received a copy of your police report.” Asher brought out his phone and scanned through the document.
“Can I ask why the FBI is looking into my attack?” Tracy asked the obvious question.
Asher set the phone down. “We believe your case may be connected to another case we’ve been working on.” He didn’t elaborate, but Asher could see her fear level escalate. He’d read her file already. Tracy had gone out to check her mail and had been attacked. Van Gogh had used the stun gun he preferred to incapacitate her, but Tracy had fought back.
“How can I help you?” she asked.
“You said on the phone you saw the man’s face briefly. Can you tell me what he looked like?”
Having to relive that moment was not something any victim wanted to do. “He was tall, and he had dark hair—almost black—and eyes to match.” She clutched her hands together to stop them from trembling.
Asher leaned forward. “I know this is hard, but you’re doing great. Tell me about his face. Was it thin or heavyset?”
“Fit,” she corrected. “He wasn’t overly thin or overweight. His face was almost hatchet-like. His nose was narrow but flared at the bottom. But I’ll never forget those eyes. They were…soulless.” She stopped for several breaths. Asher’s heart went out to her. He couldn’t imagine how terrifying the experience had been.
“He zapped me with a stun gun, but he must have not gotten a good shot because I was able to get away. I started screaming and I fought him with everything I had.” She gathered a breath. “What do you think he wanted?”
Asher looked to his partner before answering. “We can’t be sure.” He paused briefly. “Do you know a Lizzy Grayson? You both attended Georgetown.”
Tracy’s eyes widened. “I do know Lizzy. We were friends in school—she and I and several others. We took the same self-defense class together after someone from campus was attacked. I haven’t spoken to Lizzy in a while, though. Not since college. She kind of dropped off the radar after we graduated. What has this to do with her?” She glanced between the two.
“Tracy, you may have been an intended target of a serial killer known as the Van Gogh Killer.”
“No, I-I can’t believe it.” Tracy closed her eyes and put her head in her hands.
“Are you okay?” Asher couldn’t imagine what she was thinking.
“No, I’m not. Are you saying the man who attacked me is a serial killer?”
His partner answered, “We’re saying what happened to you is similar to other cases.”
Tracy shivered visibly. “He knows where I live.”
“We know,” Olivia told her. “We can have police officers outside your home until we catch this man. In fact, let me call that in now.” She grabbed her phone and made the call.
Tracy stared at them with frightened eyes.
Olivia ended the call. “You’re all set. They’ll be here soon.”
Tracy blew out a relieved breath. “Thank you.”
“You said you haven’t spoken to Lizzy since you graduated from college,” Asher asked because that didn’t make sense to him. “What about Sylvia Abbott? Have you spoken to her lately?”
Her eyes snapped to him. “Sylvia? She and I kept in touch. We speak occasionally by phone, and about once a year we get together for lunch. But I haven’t spoken to her in almost a year.” Her eyes flitted from Asher to Olivia. “Has something happened to Sylvia?”
Asher looked briefly at Olivia before he delivered the news. “I’m afraid she was killed.”