Relatively Rainey (5 page)
We are cautioning all single females living alone in the area to take extra measures for their safety. It may be wise to have a male friend or family member stay at the home. Other security measures include replacing outdoor lights with bright lamps and leaving them on. If possible install motion detector activated lighting at the back of property near any wooded areas, vary routines, place a stick in windows to prevent opening or install locks that bolt to the frame, install chain or swing-bar locks on entry doors.
Any female resident living in proximity to these crimes that believes she may have been a victim of a fetish burglary in the last two years is urged to come forward. The suspect has been known to return to scenes of his previous crimes. Persons with any information on these crimes should contact Detective Sheila Robertson, Durham County Sheriff’s Department Criminal Investigations Division.
#
9:00 AM, Tuesday, December 16, 2014
Hardware Builder’s Supply
Durham, NC
“Send me everything you have in stock and find more.”
Harold Sparks listened to the warehouse manager’s surprised response and didn’t care how many swing-bar locks and window frame locking bolts he was ordering. It wouldn’t be enough.
“Yes, everything. Send everything on the truck this afternoon. I can’t keep the stuff on the shelves. People are scared.”
Harold looked down the door and window hardware aisle of his store filled with frightened women.
“Hang on, don’t put the stuff on the truck. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Just have it ready to load.”
A young woman in a State College hoodie stood in the aisle staring up at a wall of door locks while a single tear rolled down her cheek.
Her voice shook as she said into the phone at her ear, “No, Mom, they don’t have any left either.”
“God, help us,” Harold said, “God, help us all.”
#
4:45 PM, Monday, January 19, 2015
Cookie Kutter Crime Beat Recording Studio
Durham, NC
“Good evening, I’m Cookie Kutter. CKCB. See a crime, come see me.”
A formerly respected news reporter, gone the way of Nancy Grace sensationalism, Cookie Kutter began the recording of her nightly cable crime beat newscast, ready to explain to the masses why she was the only person watching their backs. She shook her judgmental bottle-blonde head from side to side and smirked for the camera, before launching into tonight’s rant.
“S. M. H. For those of you not text savvy, that means I’m shaking my head.” She pointed at her head. “See, shakin’ it, shakin’ it.”
Her smirk turned into an exaggerated frown.
“Another woman is dead at the hands of the Triangle Terror and the multi-jurisdictional task force is no closer to catching this guy than they were when he started pulling panties off clotheslines two years ago.”
More head shaking followed.
“A thirty-five-year-old woman was brutally attacked and murdered in her home on Glen Road in Chatham County. The name of the victim has not been released, nor has law enforcement divulged any details, but sources say it is the Triangle Terror’s work. The attack occurred sometime Saturday night or early Sunday morning. This follows only twenty-two days after the shocking murder of twenty-six-year-old Tiegen Davis, less than four miles from the latest crime scene.”
Cookie stared into the camera, as it moved in for a close-up.
“After fourteen fetish burglaries, three rapes, and now two ghastly murders, what are the police doing to catch this guy? All law enforcement can do is tell women living alone to watch out for a thirty-five to forty-five year old physically fit white guy, move a man onto our couches, lock the doors, and hope for the best. Is that acceptable ladies and gentlemen?”
Cookie raised one eyebrow and sneered at the camera. “I think not.”
She dropped her elbow to the desktop and pointed at the camera.
“You, multi-jurisdictional task force, can do better. Why do you depend on former FBI agent Rainey Bell as a consultant, considering her inability to identify her own rapist, letting him close enough to try again? And what about the fact she hired a killer and let her into her own home without realizing it? She’s lucky all she lost were her signature long curly locks.”
The pointing finger came down, but the character assassination of Rainey Bell continued.
“Last February, former agent Bell went to a funeral and ended up kidnapped by a psychopath. Really, is that the best we can do folks, a tragically flawed behavioral analyst? Why not contact the Behavioral Analysis Unit and bring in actual FBI agents? Don’t the women of the Triangle area deserve an official state and federal investigation? This is obviously over the heads of local law enforcement and the apparently clueless has-been analyst with issues.”
The camera pulled back as Cookie stacked and straightened papers on the desk in front of her while giving a sideways glance to her audience. Having given ample time for her disdain to sink in, she slapped the papers on the desk for emphasis and asked, “Are you kidding me?”
Another pause followed, a short one to rearrange her features in an alternative display of condescension and scorn.
“Speaking of Rainey Bell, she is in the crime news today on another matter. The three bodies pulled from the drainage pond near an airport long-term parking lot last month have been identified. DNA was determined to match two teenaged boys reported to be runaways and missing since October of 2014. The names have not been released. The two were thought to have taken up homosexual prostitution as a way to survive on the street—which is another show altogether—and were last seen getting into a black sedan with darkly tinted windows. The deaths were determined to be homicides, and there are no suspects.”
Cookie tilted her head to one side, gave the camera lens her best gloating sneer, and chided, “Imagine that.”
She shifted positions, leaning in on her elbows to pull the audience in further.
“Now here’s where the Rainey Bell connection comes in. The third body is that of Dr. John P. Taylor, a local veterinarian missing since July of 2010. He is thought to be the last victim of the Y-Man serial killer, who turned out to be former State Representative JW Wilson. If you’ll remember Wilson is also the man who kidnapped and raped the then agent Bell, scarring her for life with a Y-incision on her torso. Wilson was killed by his wife, Katherine Anne Meyers, after he attacked agent Bell and Ms. Meyers in their love nest on Lake Jordan. Oh yes, Rainey Bell is now raising triplets with and is married to the former Mrs. Wilson, whom we all remember from her drunken attack on moi.”
The batting eyelashes were meant to draw sympathy from her supporters. After the short pause for effect, she moved on.
“The teenagers’ and Dr. Taylor’s deaths do not appear to be related, according to the medical examiner’s reports. Sources tell us the bindings were still attached to the teenagers’ remains, suggesting another type of killer is also on the loose in the triangle, one targeting teenage male prostitutes.”
Cookie formed an impish grin for her fans.
“How long do you think it will be before Rainey Bell is somehow mixed up in these teenagers’ murders? We’ll see. Trouble seems to find Ms. Bell on a regular basis. Maybe she should try gardening and leave the crime fighting to those who don’t end up in the middle of their own investigations?”
Her raised eyebrows were meant to give emphasis and credence to Cookie’s assessment of Rainey Bell’s investigative talents.
“We’ll be back after the break to talk to Dr. Edward Teague, a forensic psychologist and research fellow at State College. He’s going to tell us about sexual paraphilia and why the Triangle Terror is driven by these needs. We’ll be right back with more on the Cookie Kutter Crime Beat Show.”
“And cut,” a voice said from the darkness in the studio. “Okay, Cookie. We’ll have the doc set up with a microphone in two minutes.”
Without an audience to charm, Cookie reverted to her off-camera persona.
“Why don’t I have video of Rainey Bell at one of these crime scenes? Why don’t I have an interview with one of the surviving victims? What the fuck am I paying you little weasels for? And Dirk, yes you, Dirk, the one with the headset in the booth, the one that’s supposed to edit this shit into something worthy of a number one local cable news show—make sure you run that clip in the background of precious little Katie Meyers punching me in the face.”
She chuckled and shook her head from side to side, as she started editing the questions for her upcoming guest.
Under her breath, but easily heard by others, she chuckled and said, “I’ve gotten more mileage out of that fifteen seconds of video than should be legal. Love it, just love it.”
#
Later that same evening…
Somewhere in the Raleigh-Durham Area
“Thank you, Doctor Teague. I don’t know about you ladies,” Cookie said into the camera lens, “but I think I’m headed to the dollar store for some big ol’ granny panties.”
Dr. Teague’s voice could be heard off-camera, trying to explain, “Well, the style might not be a factor in this offend—”
Cookie’s glare, focused on someone beyond the camera, had the desired effect. The doctor’s microphone was cut, silencing him from stepping on her clever line.
“That’s it for the show ladies and gentlemen. Stay safe and remember, CKCB, see a crime, come see me.”
He clicked on “save as” in the file menu, labeled the file, “CKCB, January 19, 2015,” and saved it to his special external hard drive. The files on that particular device represented his best work to date. He safely ejected and disconnected the slender, black drive, returning it to its hiding place inside the false panel of his home office desk.
The secrets it held were the reason he insisted on the heavy piece of furniture his wife disliked. She only agreed to his choice because he was so accommodating on the rest of the decisions made for the new house. He was like that, obliging to his wife’s wishes most of the time. She thought him the perfect husband, as she should because he invested a lot of effort in fulfilling the image she had of him.
He actually loved her and wanted her to be happy. She was fun and outgoing. Their sex life wasn’t half bad, probably better than most with their longevity. It would be twenty years in May since he walked her down the aisle. He thought her pretty damn perfect too. Her job took her away for days at a time. She took a sleeping aid that knocked her out cold for hours when she was at home. Bouncing around through time zones wore on her she said. He remained the perfect long-suffering, lonely husband, home alone while she flew around the world.
It would never cross her mind that he was anything but loyal, and he was—except for one thing. He was now a murderer, a full-on sadistic serial killer. He had spent years repressing his darker thoughts. An occasional dalliance, some panties here, a camisole there, was all he would allow himself. He focused on his work and creating the picture-perfect life with his wife. He ran mile after mile, worked out obsessively, fulfilled his wife’s every sexual fantasy, trying anything to silence the demon in the night. He plunged into his work with vigor, becoming well respected in his field. No one would ever suspect he harbored sadistic sexual desires.
He could control it back then. He could turn it off, lock it back down, but that all changed with the move to Durham. His wife was overjoyed to be back near family. He was offered a coveted position and a chance to make a name for himself among his colleagues. His wife accepted the job offer she’d refused multiple times after he told her she should live the dream, follow her heart, see the world and take it by storm.
Once she was launched on her travels, the demon had no reason to stay hidden. Though he had fooled himself into thinking he had controlled his dark desires, he never did. On his own for days, sometimes weeks, the demon could no longer be silenced. He began to watch them, his girls, initiating the collection of victims and trophies. At first, it was just what he could pinch from clotheslines, gyms, and unattended washers at public laundries.
His fantasies grew violent and the desires overwhelmed him until he no longer tried to quell them. That first time, walking into that basement, finding a treasure trove of one of his girls’ underwear in a pile of laundry, that was the first needle in the vein. Once he crossed that line, entered a home undetected, he was an addict with a growing habit. He was smart enough to know the demon’s hunger for the drug it craved would only increase in frequency and dosage. He was also smart enough to know, if he did not stop, he would go the way of many an addict. Was the crash and burn worth the ride?
He picked up Shayna Carson’s blood spattered thong from his desk. It was the last thing in which he posed her before he tightened the zip tie around her neck. He watched the petechial hemorrhaging appear on her cheeks and in the whites of her terror stricken eyes.
His wife’s flight wouldn’t land for another hour. He unzipped his jeans and slipped the thong over his already hardening penis. Shayna’s last breath had excited him like no other experience in his admittedly deviant hunt for the ultimate sexual high. He closed his eyes so he could see her again. He didn’t need the pictures he took to relive the time he spent with her. She nearly fulfilled the fantasy to a tee. While he replayed her pleas for her life in his mind, he determined then that the next time he would cut the zip tie off and let the target catch her breath before slipping on a new one. He would repeat this reviving strategy until she did not recover. If he practiced on the next couple of targets, he was sure he could perfect the glorious ending to the fantasy.
He slid Shayna’s thong along the length of his now rock hard penis. The mental movie of her last hours began to meld with his fantasies.
“Shayna,” he whispered, “you were definitely worth the ride.”
#
11:22 PM, Saturday, January 31, 2015
Falcon Ridge Subdivision, Durham, NC
“9-1-1. What is your emergency?”
“He’s going to kill us this time.”
“Who ma’am? Is someone in your home trying to hurt you?”
