No Ordinary Killer (28 page)

That was when he realized he
was different. Guys said stupid things like they were finally in love. A guy
gave a girl a ring to go steady and all he wanted was to get in her pants. Why
couldn’t he just be honest and go for it? They talked about feelings and that
was the one thing he didn’t have.

Studying serial killers in
school created enlightenment and an understanding of himself. He didn’t know if
he was a killer. But he was void of understanding an emotional bonding or a
need to form an attachment to another person. The fact pure and simple, he just
didn’t care. It didn’t affect him. He needed no one but himself. He had made
one exception … Dianna.

Bundy, his hero since he
represented the epitome of serial killers, often talked about the spiritual
oneness he felt with his victims.

He often envisioned having a
spiritual oneness with Dianna’s pure, innocent body beneath him. Hopefully it
lasted … before the image of her legs wrapped around Donald Whipler’s waist
while he held her bare buttock and slammed into her intruded. His sweet,
innocent Dianna fucking the popular, totem jock in the boy’s locker room. He
couldn’t keep his eyes off them. Their moans of pleasure. She pulled him into
her … she cried out … more … more … harder. He couldn’t believe she was doing
this to him. After they had finished, he despised how Don remained inside her,
kissing her neck, her lips, touching her breasts. Lingering the union, all the
while stabbing him in the heart. That was the moment his plan began to form.

He followed her after
religious instructions, where they both went on Wednesday nights. He’d
overheard her telling friends she was going over to Don’s house to study.

He had a conscious detailed
plan. First he’d gotten Don’s laptop and ordered Rohyphol and had it delivered
to a PO Box that he used to get Playboy and other kinky shit. Don was always
bragging about it to the guys. It wasn’t hard to get the key from his pants
pocket in the guy’s locker room.

The following day he had to
drive his mother to Missoula for a doctor’s appointment. While she thought he
waited in the car for her, it had been easy to have a duplicate key made. He
casually dropped Don’s key ring into his gym bag. When Don announced to
everyone he couldn’t believe he’d found his keys in the side pocket, he nearly
shit his pants. How’d they get there? Duh?

In time Don would also have
to explain how his pubic hair was found mingled with the pubic hairs of the
dead, angelic, untouched, Christian girl, Dianna Holmes. Did other students
know the two were fucking? If they did, it would only add to the vindicating
evidence. Hadn’t he ordered the date rape drug? It was rumored Dianna’s father
hated Don and all he stood for. The boy didn’t even go to church.

As usual, he offered to walk
Dianna the eight blocks toward Don’s house. It was a hot night, over eighty
degrees and he offered her a water bottle laced with roofies. She smiled in her
soft, innocent way and took the liquid and drank nearly half before they
reached the first block. He suggested they take a short cut across the park and
she giggled and leaned into him in agreement. By the time they reached his
parked car on the far side of the park, nicely hidden behind a grove of trees,
he nearly had to hold her up. Just touching her caused him to get hard. He had
to be quick before anyone saw them.

He drove them to an isolated
spot near the Missouri River. He often fantasized making love to her on a
blanket on this very spot, and now that dream was going to come true. Dianna
was all relaxed and easy. He turned the car radio on and led her to the
blankets he’d previously arranged. Her laughter caused his jeans to tighten. He
stretched out on the blanket and asked her to dance and take her clothes off,
as he had fantasied.

 
She was a goddess as she swayed her hip. She
took the water bottle and poured it across her shoulders, then moved her hands
across her bare breasts trailing her fingers lower and lower until she slipped
them into herself. He panted in want of her as she stood over him naked and
ready.

He pulled her down to the blanket
and slowly kissed every inch of her. She purred and moaned. “You’re driving me
crazy. Take me. Come on, lover, give me what I want and need.”

That’s when he drove into
her. She pulled him into her and gave it all. He ejaculated on the spot.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re
done. Come on,” she taunted. “I need more than just a poke.”

Fury like nothing he’d ever
experienced came over him. Her laughter and ridicule filled him with rage. How
dare the slut make fun of him? She had tricked him. He gripped her neck with
both his hands and squeezed … and squeezed … and squeezed. She lay limp beneath
him.

 
Bundy had said, “You feel the last bit of
breath leaving their body. You’re looking into their eyes. A person in that
situation is God. You then possess them and they shall forever be a part of
you. And the grounds where you kill them or leave them become sacred to you,
and you will always be drawn back to them.”

He had possessed Dianna … she
was his first. The experience was nothing he had expected … it was so much
more. Every fiber of his being was alive.

He had it all planned out …
and that was twenty years ago.

Megan sat back, shocked at what she’d just written.
She snapped the book
Practical Homicide
Investigation
by Vernon J. Geberth closed. It had given her more than
enough information to reach into the mind of the serial killer. She had to
admit, it scared the hell out of her.

A knock sent her nerves on edge as she headed for the
door. She stopped dead in her tracks in the parlor. A lovely tray with an assortment
of finger sandwiches, potato salad, lemonade, and a small veggy dish awaited
her. Megan smiled until her gaze settled on a familiar manila envelope. Her
heart pounded in her chest. She read the sticky note attached;

Megan, love, you made this
one hard on me. I had to do some real searching before I could find a case that
would reflect the beginning of the third book. Do me proud. Consider shedding
suspicion on others or are you going to keep calling the villain ‘he’
throughout the book? Enjoy your lunch and get back to work—we have a schedule
to beat. P.S. Change Dianna Holmes to Michelle Rice. You have no clue how very
close to the truth you’ve come. Hugs and sloppy kisses, your mentor.

How could he possibly know … good God. Could he see
everything she wrote? Could he see everything she did? Did he watch her and
Dennis making love? The thought made her skin crawl. Megan grabbed a sandwich
and leaned back on the sofa. She stared at the manila envelope for several
minutes before reaching for it.

The seventeen-year-old victim stared back at Megan.
The girl had an innocence about her, a freshness. The crime scene photos
exposed a gruesome murder that took place twenty years ago. The coincidence was
unnerving.

Megan snatched up the horrifying pictures, grabbed the
food tray and headed back to the work room and set it down. She munched on
carrot sticks and studied the pictures. “Who are you Michelle Rice? How did you
end up like this? Did a total stranger kidnap you or was he your boyfriend?

She reviewed the crime scene sketches and the autopsy
report. Scanning the crime scene log, Megan paused at the names Elton Reynolds
and Harry Maxwell. They were partners twenty years ago. Did the killer want her
to notice that Cooper’s father was lead on this investigation? If so, what did
it mean? Where did Michelle Rice fit in all this?

She wished she had the courtroom transcripts.
Michelle’s boyfriend, Neil Sands, was found guilty for the crime and sent to
life in prison, without the possibility of parole. Evidence showed they had the
boy’s pubic hair, date rape vial in his coat pocket, and even admitted she was
pregnant with his baby.

A gulp of lemonade brought tears to Megan’s eyes.
“Michelle was pregnant?” Megan mumbled to herself. “Who really was the father
of your baby, Michelle?” A spark of intrigue energized Megan.

What type of event would it take for a shy, rather
innocent girl to suddenly start sleeping around? If the police were convinced
Neil killed his girlfriend, then did they looked for other possibilities? Megan
had the uncanny feeling that Neil Sands had spent twenty years in prison for a
crime he didn’t commit. And with that thought, Megan discovered the connecting
thread. Another murder the cops got wrong.

The last page of the report revealed a startling fact
highlighted in bright yellow and circled in red. Detectives Elton Reynolds and
Harry Maxwell received commendations for their handling of the investigation.
This information seemed important to the killer. Why?

Did the killer have a connection with Cooper’s father?
Or was the killer pointing a finger at the seasoned member of Cooper’s team,
Harry Maxwell? Did one or both detectives plant the evidence on young Neil?

What about Michelle’s father. He hated Neil dating his
daughter. He wasn’t Catholic and was a near failing student who paved his way
with good looks and sports. Yet, she couldn’t believe the father would have
access to plant the necessary evidence. But a detective on the case would.

Devouring the tasty potato salad, Megan ran scenario
after scenario. What she did know … the wrong man … a boy twenty years ago …
went to prison for a crime he didn’t commit.

An epiphany caused goose bumps across her arms. If she
could prove Neil Sands innocent, and reveal the real killer, she could be a millionaire.
Hell, she’d get an exclusive interview with the kid and write his story. Megan
smiled to herself and snapped a carrot in half. This third story was going to
be a killer.

* * *

“We’re here,” Pete said, turning into the drive.

“Stop,” Jamie said. “That’s really strange.”

“What’s really strange, Jamie?” Cooper stayed low in
the back seat.

“Mom never leaves the garage door open or parks in the
middle like that.”

“You sure?”

“I ought to know. She yells at me if I don’t pull in
just right. I’m telling you, this is all wrong.”

“Okay. Jamie, do you have any friends you hang out
with at school. I’m talking close neighbor here?”

“Sure, Sally Parks right next door and I are best
friends. Well, I mean, after Pete and me.”

“Okay. I want you jump out and head to Sally’s house.
Wave to Pete and yell, thanks for dropping you off and add something like
you’ll call him after you and Sally study… whatever you’d say that sounds like
you. Go straight over to Sally’s house.”

“Got ya,” Jamie said, leaning over to give Pete a long
and meaningful kiss. She slid back over, grabbed her bag and slammed the door.
She ran around the Jeep and waited for Pete’s window to lower. “Thanks for the
lift. I’ll call you after Sally and I watch
Revenge
.”
She ran across the yard, stopped and turned back. “Go straight home so your dad
doesn’t get mad.”

“Yah, ya … bye.”

They both waved naturally and Cooper was surprised by
their cool. “Nice job. Drive down the street in your usual fashion.”

“Usual fashion? What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“Fast or slow … what do you usually do?”

Pete stepped on it, squealing the tires slightly and
honking the horn at Jamie. “Like that, you mean?”

“Right,” Cooper shook his head and smiled. “Drive
about two blocks and turn right.”

“Why?”

“Because if something is wrong at Sally’s house, we
need to … let me rephrase that, I need to go check it out.”

“Let me help.”

“Tell me the layout of the house. I’m thinking back
door.” Cooper listened, taking mental notes. “You come with me until we get to
Sally’s house. I want you to go there and stay until I come for you. Under no
circumstances allow those girls to leave that house. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Uncle Cooper. You want me to call my dad and
tell him what’s going on? Maybe we should call for back-up?”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Dallas said, adjusting her
shoulder.

“Maybe it would be best if you wait it out here in the
truck, Dallas.”

“Really? Because I’m not capable?”

“Don’t give me that shit. You’re hurt and I don’t want
to have to worry about you. I’ve got enough to deal with right now.”

“Well, screw that. Half a back-up is better than none.
I’m going, and that’s final. Now, we going to talk all afternoon or are we
going to get this thing over with?”

“You must be that IA lady dad’s been talking about. He
said you don’t take shit from no one.”

“Pete, watch the mouth,” Cooper said. “Let’s get
going. Pete, stay behind Dallas.”

“Let’s head up the alley. It connects behind both
houses. You can make your way on Sally’s side of the hedge that separates the
two lawns alongside a chain link fence. Then there is a gate on the far side of
the patio. That gate squeaks so move it slow.”